


Emotions? Out-of-bounds

by oly_chic



Series: Finding Peace [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alexithymia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Eventual Romance, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Drama, Self-Acceptance, Self-Denial, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 111,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oly_chic/pseuds/oly_chic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many call Prowl emotionless; few suggest he simply controls his emotions too tightly. Neither is accurate. When the truth is unexpectedly forced out among the medical and officer staffs, how does each Autobot react to the fundamental difference? P/J theme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prowl's POV: Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G1-based but definitely some concepts from IDW comics.  
> I don't own Transformers, G1 or otherwise.  
> Series has the FYI notes, not necessarily critical to story. Did that to de-clutter the A/N.  
> 

Like many times before our arrival on Earth and plenty of times since, Jazz sat in my office being what I loosely called "Office Jazz." Jazz had two primary modes of work: a strong-willed saboteur, and the faux-working officer. When the situation called for him to be an officer he didn't falter but it didn't last a breem longer than whatever elected the response. Beyond that his methods of working around the Ark when his specialty wasn't relevant was something he called "Jazz-man's office smarts." I called it skillful cheating. Somehow he learned to artfully and almost invisibly stay on top of his work without ever completely finishing or falling behind while maintaining a healthy social life.  
  
I think I envied him but such a possibility was lost on me, and the idea of loss was irrelevant to me as well. Right now what wasn't loss on me was the near-certainty that Jazz was trying to pawn some of his work off on me.  
  
"Come on, man. You're doing the exact same work on the exact same five reports. It won't slow you down and you're getting something out of it."  
  
"It goes against the regulations for one, and it undermines the entire purpose for two. There's no logic behind a double verification if I do the work and you copy off of me."  
  
"These aren't critical reports. They might walk-the-walk of field critical reports but they talk like Red and Primus, we all know what that means. Unless you actually find something, it's just five reports of a running dialog of paranoid conniptions. I wish you'd keep him in the Ark for these things. At least then there's the chance of something funny in them like Sideswipe."  
  
"Prime wants everyone to have field assignments, even if it's once every three months. At a minimum it gives everyone a reprieve from the same routine within the same walls, at a maximum it keeps them familiar with Earth so they aren't easily taken back by an impromptu battle - which most of them are. Rarely do we receive a message from Megatron about his upcoming To-Do list."  
  
Jazz snickered. "Like you're one to talk about same routines. I'll double my offer."  
  
"Prime's words, not mine. I agreed because I see the logic behind knowing Earth and its various possibilities in battle. That's why everyone gets at least one assignment per season, and at least two in suburban areas while the other two in remote regions. We're also trying to get Red Alert out of his comfort zone so maybe he'll learn how to channel and control his paranoia into more healthy and productive manners, rather than remain crippled by it. Doubling your offer doesn't change the fact I don't need the original five to begin with."  
  
"That's very caring of you, though I'm suspicious of you using 'we' rather than 'Prime,' but that's not going to change my mind on my offer. I counter your nay-Jazz argument with a 'no.'"  
  
I raised an optic ridge, as expected of me from such vapid retaliations being made against my calculated arguments. I knew Jazz wasn't being serious. I also didn't get why he was obstinate during these times. I suspected this fell under his crafty ways of getting what he wanted by 'risking' laughter rather than hurt feelings. Neither yet worried me but I never told him. "I can get my own energon, thank you very much."  
  
"Yeah, that's what you think, and that's what everyone would think of a fully-grown and serious officer. I'm offering you ten shifts' worth of energon being brought to you by me during those shifts. I'll even toss in a freebee and give you double-dose of Jazz time. No charge or 'thank you's necessary."  
  
His flashy grin reminded me I need to check our stocks of polish. There's a few mechs who try sneaking off with more than their deca-orn ration. I don't believe Jazz is one of them. His shine was more genuine and natural than most. "So you're planning on me doing all the work of meticulously reading and analyzing Red Alert's reports on his half deca-orn assignment in exchange for energon catering and your smile?"  
  
"And laughter. And other stuff, too. Ya'know I'm good for more stuff than just a smile? Jazz-man is more than just a pretty face." Did his smile just flicker downward for a moment?  
  
"Indeed, there's a very skilled saboteur underneath it. I'm fully aware I'd be thorough anyhow regardless of the outcome of your trade," I stated calmly while returning back onto topic, "and that it doesn't impact me if you use my analysis to fake your own. It does impact the example we set as officers."  
  
I waited for his usual counterargument with the same playful banter. He didn't speak but just kept looking at me. Is he staring? I grapple to understand what's the appropriate response. Staring resulted in discomfort for the stared-upon. Sometimes it was fidgeting and sometimes it was "blushing", as the humans called it. Before a misunderstanding by Bumblebee on a moment between Spark and Carly I never bothered learning what it was called when... something... heated a mech's facial plates. A rush of energon? Heat from energy surges along nerve wires? Primus, was it typical for an Autobot to know that? I should look it up when Jazz is gone.  
  
As soon as his name crossed my mind I returned my focus to the physical world and not my inner confliction. Jazz was slowing beginning to speak. Good, I don't have to worry about what I'm supposed to be doing for the moment.  
  
"How about if I do my reports and bring you energon for the ten shifts, same time at your desk? That should satisfy your reservations and maybe we can understand each other better than a tactician and a saboteur."  
  
Once more I raised my optic ridge; a powerful, simple "catch all" expression, or so I learned long ago. It meant whatever the other person saw so I didn't worry about me making an error. The optic ridge raise was to me what the smile was to Jazz. "Don't we already?"  
  
"Maybe, maybe not. I'm talking about a friendly break and you keep talking about logic and our work. You're talking about me but not me Jazz, me the saboteur. Somehow we're never talking about the same thing unless it's strictly about tactical or office stuff."  
  
He's starting to frown. Have I upset him? I nearly frown. Jazz taxes me but he doesn't know that. No one does, not even Ratchet. Jazz is one of the few mechs I try understanding at an emotion-level. I inwardly focus hard, searching for a sense of emotion. I liken my long-standing situation to two different scenarios; this was the scenario of talking to someone you once knew and you struggle for immediately calling the memories to stay in the conversation. Some memories come to you, some do not. Those that come are fragments just beyond your fingertips and it takes considerable effort to connect.  
  
My fragments are telling me that I am... worried. Internally I snort. That one was obvious. I return my attention to my involuntary body signs, forgoing my attempt at comprehending what vaguely registers in my processor. My spark is fluttering and even my doorwings are starting to do the same. I immediately still them. They want to keep doing it. My jaw is tight but my hands aren't and my energon's temperature hasn't risen, so I'm not angry. Damn it, what am I?  
  
"Jazz, I am sorry if you feel unappreciated." That's it, right? He's feeling unappreciated and I feel guilty. It's my best understanding for now. "I will do the work - so long as you tell no one - and we can share energon for ten shifts. If you want, I'll even try for fifteen."  
  
He smiles and his shoulders relax. Immediately I can connect to a familiar fragment. My spark is calmer, my jaw relaxed, and my doorwings are no longer fighting me. These all mean I'm relieved, but now I need a moment. This always invariably gives me a process ache. Right now it's just beginning and hopefully this will end soon so it's a brief ache.  
  
Jazz enthusiastically takes up my offer. "Great! I'll see you in six joors. I'm planning on holding you to your promised fifteen starting now. Your scheduled shift isn't quite half over, and we know that means you won't actually leave until your shift is over and the next shift is well 'n' good in their duties. That's at least ten more joors. If it were up to me, in six joors I'd be taking you to dinner."  
  
"I'm glad you're happy but you need to stop describing Autobots and Cybertronian behaviorisms with human activities. We do not have dinners."  
  
"Maybe we should because then we could have dinner dates."  
  
Oh no, he's brought up the d-word again. Primus damn it. I can barely tell what his frowns mean and my clenched jaw, how am I supposed to figure what his tone means in conjuncture to that word, and my feelings to it? I still haven't identified the tone with any real statistical confidence. My thoughts on the matter remain as "Primus damn it" but my observations of the mechs around me informs me that this requires emotional input, if not an emotion response. Last time I tried responding purely on thought I angered Jazz. It took me a little while but I finally realized in that deca-orn I hurt him significantly and I was something akin to sad. I don't care about my own feelings but I know I care about his and I never want him to look at me like that again. My spark pulses hard and my chest feels tight, like there's not enough room for my energon pump to function properly.  
  
"I can't imagine what things would look like around here if we had dinners, but I imagine Sideswipe would find some way to make it prank." My copout. Whenever I don't know what to do and it has something to do with the base or social situations, I just say "Sideswipe" and "prank". It's like magic because everyone assumes they know what I mean and lets me off the hook. Every once in a while I have to throw in an "angry Ratchet" but Jazz's pleasant chuckle and smile informs me that I don't need to use it this time. Jazz is also one of the very few who don't follow up my "Sideswipe prank" copout with their own rhetoric about me being someone with no emotions but a giant rod lodged deeply into a part of the anatomy. My spark is warm and my chest no longer feels constricted, I idly note while thinking about how Jazz doesn't treat me.  
  
"I understand, my man. Don't you go scheduling any meetings six joors from now!"  
  
"I promise." I offer him a slight smile and he nearly bounces out of the room. When the door closes I automatically lock it and turn off all sources of light and sound. I need a few breems for the processor ache.

 

|\/\/\/|

  
It's been ten shifts since I promised Jazz a shared refuel and most of them fulfilled the agreement. A couple we missed but that's the nature of being an officer. Jazz informed me they don't count as part of my fifteen and I'm alright with that. If it keeps him happy then it keeps my spark from making those painful pulses, and Jazz unknowingly taught me it's the best way to gauge the appropriateness of my social actions as they happen.  
  
For most mechs my spark does not respond very much, if at all. Before Earth that wasn't an issue because of ongoing transfers and bypassing units. I rarely bothered with my spark at all. So long as my spark functioned I ignored it. There have been a few additions since Earth but not enough to disguise it as the result of an overburdened officer in a sea of nameless bodies. Hmm, maybe that attitude is what solidified my reputation as sparkless.  
  
Here they talk. A lot. Mostly in the same room I must enter for my energon, too. I requested a dispenser in my office nearly a half-a-dozen times but Prime refuses. The last time he pretty much snapped at me to shut up and sharply told me that it's for my good. I assume the snippiness was from post-battle fatigue and dismiss his notion of it being for my improvement as a romantic idealization. Prime is infatuated with the idea of obtaining our "happily ever afters" despite the war. Jazz tells me it's one of our only ways to keep ourselves free from Decepticon oppression. I replied by pointing out that our strongholds and battles are what prevent us from being overrun by Decepticon oppression. He looked disappointed in me. Now I go to the stupid Rec Room to get my energon.  
  
"Prowl!" A hyper voice calls out to me after I barely clear the entry way. I expected to find Bluestreak but instead it's a giddy Bumblebee. "Have you seen Jazz?"  
  
"No. We had a break together but I haven't seen him since."  
  
"Oh, okay." The young scout's face is easy for me to read. Whether he knows it or not, he exaggerates his facial expressions more than the soldiers I secretly studied. The sudden reduction in his energetic output helped.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"What makes you think something is wrong?"  
  
'Your face,' I silently reply. I didn't need Jazz to teach me that's not a friendly reaction to verbalize. "You seem concerned more than curious."  
  
"Yeah, he seemed distracted around high noon," the scout began. I mentally calculate Earth time relative to my Autobot schedule and determine that Bumblebee is starting at a point shortly after my break with Jazz. Perhaps right after our break. Bumblebee continues, "After a quick chat with Mirage about some missions we're planning he went out for a drive."  
  
"In this weather?" I heard the rain when walking to the Rec Room.  
  
Bumblebee shrugged. "It was almost clear skies when he left."  
  
Should I go find him? I listen to my spark. It flutters a few times. From context I gather it's answered with a "Yes!" Too bad I never understand what it says after that. Does my spark really want to go out in the rain? It's not a downpour but if I heard it that means it isn't a light drizzle, either. The heavier the rains, the more the mud, and that requires a trip to the main washracks near the Ark's entrance so I don't track mud to my own washracks. Busy group washracks can be worse than busy Rec Rooms.  
  
I sigh, irritated with my spark rather than the rain. "I assume you tried comm'ing him or checking his quarters?"  
  
"Yeah. He replied to the comm. awhile ago about needing a personal moment. We checked his quarters a few breems ago. Washracks, too. We aren't sure if it's right to comm. him again if he needs some time to himself. Jazz so rarely takes time out for just him." Someone called Bumblebee's name from the busy couch and television. Bumblebee is clearly torn between finding his missing friend and enjoying his downtime with a throng of friends.  
  
"I'll look for Jazz. Assuming you completed your post-shift duty summation report, you may go enjoy your time off with your comrades."  
  
His reassured and ecstatic face is his "thank you" as he darts over to his friends. I try comm'ing Jazz but naturally I didn't reach him. It may be best to let him have his time.  
  
Ouch! My spark practically smacks my chest. These last back-to-back eight shared breaks seem to have brought out its talkative side. Begrudgingly I skip the energon to find Jazz. Thanks to Jazz and my earlier break I'll be fine for a while yet, anyways. Well, by my standards.  
  
I remotely access Teletraan to get his location. As soon as I have confirmation I head to the main entrance while cursing Jazz. That's enough distance to make it statistically certain I will be too muddy when I return to wait out any washrack occupants. Even better, I'm pretty sure he's at a grass field.  
  
I carefully make my way to his coordinates, driving against the low setting sun, periodically checking in with Teletraan to make sure I'm not approaching an abandoned resting area. The rain evidently stopped while I spoke with Bumblebee but the ground is still holding onto my wheels and trying to attach itself to my undercarriage. Perhaps Jazz was just waiting out the messy terrain to come back.  
  
There! He's under some pine trees with only his lower legs exposed, based on the water patterns. He's lounging and I'm fairly certain he briefly recharged out here, if those flattened grass patterns are anything to go by. He's not looking my way and based on his tapping ped, it's likely he's engrossed in his music.  
  
I transform to bipedal mode and slowly crouch to him from behind the trees, completely abandoning any hope to avoid the grime. Now I'm just trying to minimize grass stains because those don't wash out easily. Hopefully this will be worth it. Jazz finds it amusing when I live up to my name and I saw a faint frown on his kind face. Now I need to get the doorwings to behave themselves. You too, spark. Honestly, it's like there's three or four entities in this body and I get last say in what it does.  
  
I can't believe how close I'm getting. As soon as I reach the tree, pressed almost flat against the ground, I snapped my hand forward and playfully push his shoulder.  
  
"Ah! What the frag?!" Jazz sputters, snaps up, and spins his upper torso at me. I can see his legs digging into the ground to automatically launch an attack but Jazz gains control of himself and stops. His legs aren't relaxing though. "Damn it, Prowl!"  
"It's not my fault you failed being an Autobot today." I slowly bring myself up, mindful of the mushy grass, and plan for settling next to Jazz. He shifts his weight away from me. What's that about? "Do I smell?"  
  
"Huh? No..."  
  
"I'm covered in bits of Earth's nature and you moved away from me," I point out.  
  
He stares at me. I haven't a clue what he's thinking so I stare back. After almost a whole fragging breem of staring I raise my optic ridge, hoping it works.  
  
"Prowl, how can you look at me like that?"  
  
"Isn't this how I normally look when I'm not working?"  
  
Jazz huffs and moves further away from me, now practically leaning against a different tree. I can already feel the pending processor ache I'll get from trying to understand him to the best of my limited capabilities. He mutters, "I can't believe you."  
  
There's that budding sense of a processor ache. I dig through my thoughts and emotions during our refuel break. There's a problem with that, though. I can't remember emotions unless I completely notice them at the time. I know that's never going to happen but I'm trying. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," I attempt. I remember his face and sudden posture change befuddling me before he claimed a comm. from Mirage and made a hasty departure. I thought I was rubbing off on him, getting him to take his job more seriously.  
  
"You can't be sorry if you don't know what you did. I know that doorwing twitch; you haven't the foggiest idea what I'm talking about," he accused. My doorwings are twitching? Damn it, they are. He can read me better than me because I don't know what "that twitch" is.  
  
He's right; I really don't know. "Please explain it to me."  
  
"Why?" In one word he went from annoyed to irritate.  
  
Imploringly I look at him, hoping I'm correctly conveying a need for him to talk. Words aren't working for me but maybe Jazz can fill them in for me if I try using his language: communication by expression.  
  
He heavily exhales and sinks down, his back sliding down the tree. "You aren't honest with me, Prowl."  
  
"I haven't lied to you."  
  
"You're hiding things."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like how I asked you what you thought about going to a concert."  
  
"And I replied with 'dastardly.'" His actual question at the time made my attempted joke sound slightly better.  
  
"Yeah, and then I asked you how you felt about going to a concert with me." Now I can hear his pain. His posture is only feigning relaxation. I can see the strain in the visible muscle cables.  
  
"And I tried using humor to elaborate on how I feel about concerts." Music is almost completely about emotions. Going to a concert with anyone is a natural aversion to me. They'd want to talk to me about it and between the sensor inputs, confusion trying to determine what to focus on for my manual interpretations, and the fact I'd actually have to fake answers makes it completely unpleasant.  
  
"Whenever I try getting you involved in something not work related you excuse yourself by hiding behind our pranksters and this notion you gotta deal with them all by yourself."  
  
Damn. He's caught onto me. "I'm sorry Jazz. I'm not comfortable with loud noises. Doorwing sensors are quite the pain." Now I'm trying copout number two.  
  
"That's why it's a small concert with much softer orchestral sounds. In fact, I think several of the last activities I tried getting you join me where along the same lines!" Jazz roughly sat back up and stared into me. Not at me but into me.  
  
I felt my doorwings shiver and I asked my spark, 'What's going on?' It was pulsing rapidly against a confined chest and I felt heat in my facial plates. I don't know what that means! "I'm sorry," was all I could offer.  
  
"I don't want your 'sorry', I want your honesty. I've been trying this for so long. Too long." What's he talking about? "Pit, how many times do I have to talk about dates, events, or outings just to get a straight, honest answer from you? I just want to know how you feel about me."  
  
He's dropping the d-word again but I know this tone. I deliberately drag out answering him by slowly lowering myself against a tree, putting him in my peripheral vision. Music and the d-word fall under the same category for me. I wished many times to never hear Jazz saw that word in that tone. It's happened to me twice before, one before I knew Jazz and the other when I knew him as an acquaintance. I'm going to miss Jazz being a daily occurrence in my life. I mental sever that connection to my spark I was only recently working on building up in eagerness of finally bypassing my permanent loss. I swear I heard it say 'no!' before it lost its voice by me the offlining the surrounding sensors. It's been an uncountable number of vorns since I shut them all off.  
  
A long time ago I kept two sensors active in case something happened to my spark, like a blast or something easily classified as bad. With Jazz I'd been slowly turning the rest on one-by-one so my spark could speak louder. It hurt but I was trying. Was. Technically turning them all off was a death risk because I could have a spark-attack and never know until it was too late, but the ability was built into my system for a reason. Ratchet doesn't know I can do this but that's because he doesn't know about what I permanently loss. I've never been injured by my spark, either, so he has no reason to check. Neither it nor my loss made their way into my file. Severing that spark connection should mitigate most of my doorwing reactions also.  
  
"Jazz, you are a good mech. A friendly shoulder. A fine work companion. An excellent Autobot. You and I can never been anything more than that."  
  
From my peripheral vision I can see a violent tremor pass through his frame at my detached tone-less words. The tremor stayed in his hands. I didn't focus on his face. I'm sure it spoke the words he couldn't get out. A hand clenched and his entire being left my vision. I heard him transform and leave quickly. I stayed behind, allowing him time to make it back to the Ark and clean up. I unwounded my shoulders and rest against the tree. The bark, the breeze, and the few rain drops escaping the pines are all I feel.  


|\/\/\/|

  
Almost a full deca-orn passed without an incident by my count. Jazz was rarely around. We were never within arm's range of each other unless in the presence of other officers. He wouldn't look at me unless necessary. I'd seen a few of the looks he gave me from a distance. I'm sure I'd feel unpleasant about the looks if it were possible.  
  
Naturally a small wave of tension passed through the Ark when Jazz confided in someone. No one but I, Jazz, and whoever that mech was knew what happened. All that was known was Jazz was upset and I caused it. I was called a few things to my face by Jazz's supporters. I was mildly surprised (probably) that I was confronted by only a few, but to my limited knowledge Jazz wasn't pursuing an idea of punishing me by social expulsion. Someone obviously stepped in before it got any further. My suspicions were on Prime. Answers and defending myself weren't something I needed to know or do for my work and I elected to leave it wherever it lied beyond my awareness.  
  
Prime did try talking about it to me. I politely declined. He actually tried getting a rise out of me but I kept politely declining until his shoulders dropped in defeat. After he gave up all I heard were few quiet remarks from those believing themselves to be speaking in private. Largely said remarks amounted to me being a jerk that showed no distress or reaction to the situation. Actually, "jerk" is a really nice way of paraphrasing it.  
  
My work became more efficient and while I found myself repeated getting warning alerts for energon, I considered it a tactical positive. I can always grab an energon cube on my way out, but I can't formulate and distribute a tactical plan on-the-fly for basic plans and contingencies. Modify in battle with changing variables, sure, but not creating them from scratch.  
  
My self-assurances became vindicated during an attack by Megatron. This attack to be precise, and one I might add that he didn't kindly inform us ahead of time from his To-Do list. I still haven't figured out what it supposedly accomplishing. It looks like they're going after energy lines but there's something off about their movement patterns.  
  
"Sunstreaker!" I called out through the commlink. "Flank to the left of Tracks and round Dead End by his right. His right arm is swinging slower." The frontliner did as ordered and succeeded but more Decepticon soldiers were coming his way. They seemed to split between Prime's group and the frontliner's group. Sideswipe was at the halfway point with his own mini-group.  
  
I was alone and shielded by rocks and wood crates, half-crouched and hiding myself from view. It was an outdoor construction area where the lines were supposed to be doubled as part of a human-Autobot effort. I looked around carefully. It's as if the missing Megatron is calling for a pincer attack, except the drive is all wrong. I can't find Megatron anymore but I know it's not because of us. Soundwave is missing, too.  
  
I see Jazz near a truck with a tiny warning symbol for flammables. I calmly order, "Jazz, use your flamethrower on that lone silver truck by Swindle."  
  
He pushes himself free of a Constructicon and does as order without fail. A true Autobot and real officer. I'm theoretically proud of him for acting without pause despite getting the order from me.  
  
The explosion is big enough that it takes down Swindle and a few other Decepticons that didn't realize the plain truck wasn't safe. Not when I see it. Suddenly I hear Megatron's booming-yet-raspy voice, "Decepticons, begin pulling back!"  
  
Instantly I search for his physical location. He's almost free of the entire skirmish and closer to me than makes sense. Suddenly I hear growling behind me. I turn around just as I think, 'Please don't let this make sense.'  
  
I don't complete the turn in time. I feel Ravage's claws dig into my back and then his teeth around the back of my neck. Is he trying to bite through my spine? What sense does that make? Either swing forward and go for the energon line or - wait a klik. Stop it, logic. We're fighting a cat that's trying to kill me from behind and I can't get my acid pellet rifle between me and him.  
Is he breathing on me? When did he get lungs and how illogical is that? It feels wet and -  
  
PAIN!  
  
Pain raced from where Ravage was "breathing" and burning my processor, my battle computer, my everything in my neck and head. Whatever he's putting on my neck is going through the armor and using my spine like a highway straight into my head.  
  
I start shooting wildly, not giving the slightest damn of the acid pellets piercing my doorwings. Suddenly Ravage is off and he's running away, but the pain isn't leaving. It's getting worse!  
  
I try calling for help but my voice and commlink aren't working. Either Ravage's 'breath' went after my vocalizer and commlink, Ravage physically did something, or I can't get it together. My mind races, struggling vehemently to find a way to identify the attack so I can stop it. My battle simulator suddenly sees an answer. It's stuck where the permanently-damaged part of my processor exists. I need to shut off my processor. How? It's not like I have a shutoff button or some mental shutdown code. It's easier for me to get knocked offline accidently by my glitch than me doing it deliberately.  
  
The glitch! I need to trigger it. I look out at the battlefield as each side moves, us driving them back while they take energy. I look for something so fundamentally illogical I can't process it.  
  
Thundercracker is kind of cute.  
  
My burning processor retaliates with 'Seekers and Praxians are known to see each other that way. Physical attractions are independent of faction-affiliation and therefore still perfectly logical.'  
  
What the Pit, processor?! Sideswipe can cause you to glitch with a spray can but me looking at a Decepticon with anything but contempt is totally fine?  
  
I drop down on the ground, now completely flat. I didn't even know I was on my knees. Where are my doorwings? Are they still attached?  
  
PAIN!  
  
I look for my Prime and find him far below and his pointing suggests he took over all orders, including mine. Someone has to be coming soon if Prime just took over. He's glaring at Megatron. I look to Megatron, whose smirking right back. His smirking mouth almost looks like a certain minibot's fake pout. It's like he's pouting at Optimus. Like maybe he wants Optimus the same way Elita wants -

 

|\/\/\/|

  
My hearing comes back first. I can hear quiet discussions from at least three mechs. I can feel the coolness of a medical berth. Now I'm suspicious. Why would at least three mechs be here? At most it'd be Ratchet and Prime.  
  
I leave my optics last, mentally gearing for whatever three-plus Autobots look like. It looks like most of the officers and medical staff. I carefully look around at Ratchet, Ironhide, Prime, Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Jazz. All of them look disturbed to some degree but Jazz the most. He's sitting behind all the standing officers and Prime.  
  
I think I'm scared but maybe it's the approaching Ratchet's very concerned face. A snarky Ratchet says you're going to be okay. A wary Ratchet surrounded by medical and official staff is incredibly daunting, to say the least.  
  
My spark leaps. As soon as I caught that sensation my cycling energon stopped cold from my freezing pump. "Ratchet," I calmly interrupt him in his tracks, "what did you do?"  
  
"A lot," came the gruff-yet-hesitant reply.  
  
I'm trying to run a self-diagnostic while checking my internal chronometer. I've been out for half a deca-orn. "I imagine you can do a lot considering how long my chronometer says I've been at your discretion."  
  
"Prowl." Prime stops everything. "Ratchet, please summarize the medical report for Prowl before we continue."  
  
Slag. I can tell there's something really wrong, based on Ratchet and Jazz's face. Prime interrupting everything to keep on track isn't a sign of anything by itself, but a worried Ratchet and an upset Jazz means something. Plus there's that panicking spark in my chest that I shouldn't know about. I struggle until I'm sitting and Wheeljack helps me up.  
  
Ratchet nodded. "Prowl, we found you with your doorwings chewed up by your acid pellet and several claw marks. We figured you shot yourself getting Ravage off. When I saw the pattern on your neck I realized it was likely nanites attacked you through your nero-network. When we stabilized you I checked out your processor and discovered wide-spread damage. It would have been worse but your glitch was triggered and between frying some circuits and losing power to others, the nanites were drastically slowed down. First time that glitch was any good." He scowled, probably reminiscing about a few endeavors that brought me to him with less favorable glitch-related results.  
  
"I don't like poking around a mech's processor unless it's necessary. Even then I stick to only what I need to examine. Normally I only examine your battle simulation computer because the glitch affects it the most. Long time ago I checked the glitch since it was in your records but didn't see a solution."  
  
"I'm aware," I murmured. I think I know where this is going. I mentally start preparing myself. I can see Jazz behind Ratchet and he's leaning further forward.  
  
"How the Pit was it missed that you have permanent shorts in your processor?!" He angry exclaimed. "Then there are two wires completely dead but they're acting like a bridge so the shorts sometimes connect. I tried getting to them so I could figure out what happened, what part of your uniquely-screwed-up processor that is, and if it's fixable. It's too complicated and I can't safely get to it. Yet. So before I knock you back out and trace it through an extremely labor-intensive method to find what it's supposed to be doing and go from there, I'm giving you this one chance to tell me how you hid this, why you hid it, and what it's supposed to be doing? Oh, and by the way, the totally illegal neuro-net adapter you have for your spark-based sensors. Which were completely turned off!" He actually yelled that last part and slammed his hand down on a tray next to my berth.  
  
And there it was. I thought about the adapter and my hurting chest. Perhaps this will be easier without the distraction. Even if I had a spark-attack I'd still be okay because Ratchet's machines would pick up on it before anything happened.  
  
A machine beeped from my side and Ratchet scowled at me. "No!" he snarled and we all jumped. "I couldn't turn off the adapter because of its shoddy patchwork around those shorts but I did add a travel-size monitor as your newest accessory." He poked me in the arm and suddenly I felt it. "You even try accessing it again and not only will this beep again, but it'll tell me no matter where I am so I can come and slap you."  
  
Prime looked at me with cool optics but there was something in those optics that said he wasn't happy. "Prowl, Ratchet informed me that you've never had a processor injury since he's known you that explain the described damage. Our only conclusion is that you've been hiding this for a while."  
  
"Obviously." My dry response slipped out and almost immediately angered everyone.  
  
Ironhide snapped, "How can you be some calm about this, about lying to us? You worked with all of us and never thought to mention about you giving orders with a misfiring processor?"  
  
"That's exactly why I can stay calm, and it's also why I can give orders without the problems you go through when commanding or reprimanding mechs you know," I pointed out. "It's no secret that most see me as an emotionless drone. The truth?" I briefly looked directly at Jazz before returning to the standing officer cluster. "Those damaged wires are part of my emotional sub-routines. I'm not emotionless; I just normally can't feel them. I know they're there and sometimes I can forcefully get one or two of them across - I suppose the bridge has something to do with that - but I usually don't understand them anyways."  
  
I let my fans pull in more air while I worked on calming my spark down the old-fashion way. "When I was a youngling I got into trouble. I was old enough to do something especially stupid but not old enough to automatically have it held against me. Ratchet, what do my records say about the origin of my glitch?"  
  
Ratchet fussed when the attention was abruptly turned back to him. "It says a youngling-hood accident caused it."  
  
"It's basically a lie." I might as well swing for the hills, as Jazz would say. Speaking of Jazz, I flicker my gaze at him just briefly. He's not hiding his dismay as well as he probably thinks he is. I can't look at him so long as it's there. "I had a lapse of judgment and befriended some younglings that I'd be shock if they didn't eventually become Decepticons. We were committing a minor crime -" at least two mechs gasped quietly "- and it didn't go well. My head was critically injured. The medic who cared for me realized the damage created a permanent glitch and he wouldn't be able to fix it. He put that in my medical records since it'd be a lifelong problem. He convinced the Enforcers to let me be by pointing out my predicament. Evidently he had quite the soft-spot for younglings. He was certain that with the right tools he could fix the remaining damage so he didn't want to add other processor damage in my medical records. He knew what that'd mean, even if he fixed it the very next orn. He died from a medical raid attack before he had those tools.  
  
"You can probably speculate what it's like growing up as a youngling with only the rare and fleeting sense of emotion. Unless it was something I knew before the accident I couldn't recognize it. I... had some problems." I'm not about to elaborate about my remaining criminal friends fearing me as a psychopathic youngling, pointed out by one youngling after getting a hold of psychology bookfile. I stayed around to help one youngling because I knew we were loyal together despite being unable to emotionally reciprocate. I embraced the label for a while. I was well-organized, secretive, manipulative, no longer felt remorse or guilt, and I disdained social mores. Evidently that was textbook for "psychopath" but I never told anyone. The younglings that wanted to share my problem were too scared to cross me.  
  
"Eventually I realized I wasn't alright with that. A friend of mine was going to school for medical training and innovation." More specifically, that youngling I stayed around to save grew up with the idea to save me and mechs like me. "Without being able to fix it directly he decided on an adapter. The idea was altering and strengthening the spark sensors so I might understand its response better. Eventually the idea spread to incorporating other sensors."  
  
Ratchet demanded, "Who is he?"  
  
"It's irrelevant. He died before he could finish his work or even write it down." It wasn't entirely accurate but the outcome was the same. I had a fully functioning adapter and overly-sensitive sensor net arrays to help me understand my involuntary responses, but the adapter needed some modifications. Namely the safety issue. My friend found a mech capable of working with me and the other "psycho" friend so we'd learn how to interpret those responses. I got better; the other damaged mech didn't. I swore from the aftermath to never allow myself to slip back onto that path, least I find myself catching up with that murderous fragger. He was the first mech I'd ever killed. "I suppose after that I forced myself to move on by accepting that I wasn't going to truly feel emotions again and trying to find something beneficial with it. Evidently that turned out to be a tactician with a battle simulation in an on-going and violent war."

  
Silence. My confessions were met with complete and utter silence. I refused to look at Jazz. Every time my gaze drifted his way my spark would pulse erratically (beyond what it was already doing) and I had to move away. Ratchet has no idea just how much he's screwed me over but I'm fairly certain that's not an argument to have right now. Especially since more than once I'm pretty sure I heard ragged hitched air intakes from the direction I refused to acknowledge.  
Ratchet spoke first but his normally gruff voice was strained as if his stern words were all projection and no substance. "I'm taking you completely off of duty until we resolve this to Prime's satisfactory."

  
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Ratchet. This is a pre-existing, pre-Autobot, problem that made me the Autobot I am, capable of formalizing and executing plans knowing what they may cause. I do my very best to keep everyone alive and functional but I'm not crippled by the fear. It lets me act precisely and accurately even in dire and gruesome situations. Who else can do that? Besides that, what'll happen if word gets out that I'm being held on medical leave for something I had before joining the Autobots?"

  
They looked stunned and even Ratchet looked helpless. I felt bad for him, or at least I think I did. His intentions were good, his execution would be awful. I slipped off the berth. "Unless something here changes, I'm going back to my quarters to recharge. I will resume my duties when I wake until either Prime or Primus stops me."

  
I hastily beat it out of there. They finally knew my honesty, or at least most of it. They didn't know I strangled that murderer until he permanently offlined. They mostly didn't know that my lost friend taught me that giving into the painful void of emotionless existence brought a darkness unsuited for living among law-abiding mechs. They certainly didn't know my uptight emotion-free existence as an Autobot wasn't an empty life but one dedicated to saving them from mechs like me who embraced that side.


	2. Prowl's POV: Aftermath

My door chimes and it abruptly wakes me up. I check my internal chronometer and realize I managed three joors of recharge. Really, they left me alone that long? It took nearly a whole joor just to figure out how to lay down with my recovering doorwings and then get my spark under control. Never before were all the sensors active and their new states were really starting to hurt my chest and processor; now it's almost constant, as opposed to previously when my spark and I tried speaking to each other.

Back when Jazz and I were talking I only had two-thirds running and that was pushing it. My processor was swimming in information and I had trouble comprehending the meaning and value. It's like a constant series of whispers in the audio receiver and every once in a while a voice rises just enough for me to understand the words. On top of it there's the additional 'whisper' of a spark sound, resulting in feeling the frequencies. Instead of a whisper it's a vibration-based code where sometimes a particular vibration becomes out-of-phase with the rest and I can feel the actual code; understanding it after that is a different matter.

My chest started becoming uncomfortably warm a few breems after I ran away and continued doing so until I fell into recharge. Now it's cooled down but it's still above the normal temperature. The 'whispering' is back, though, but so far it's not a room of whisperers.

I call to the room to for 50% lights before stumbling out of my berth to meet my recharge-interrupter at my door. I'm not about to let them in remotely, least it turn out to be the same "Welcome back, Misfiring Processor Prowl" committee from before. Like I'm going to let them trap me in a room. I might even add a backdoor to my office.

My door slides open and I half hang off the doorframe, my recovering doorwings being unequal in weight due to the bandages and support struts on the right one. I noticed it after I stopped speed walking out of Medbay and nearly fell over. Evidently I shot myself pretty good in that one. The drawback of disappearing mid-way during our CMO's tirade: I didn't give Ratchet a chance to inform me about the rest of my injuries. Hence my suspicion about what's waiting for me.

"Jazz?" Immediately I quickly snake a glance around in case Ratchet's hiding somewhere.

He's slowly shifting his weight and he's holding his hand like ringing my door chime pained his wrist. "Can I come in?"

Involuntarily I grunt and he rocks backwards on his heels. "It's not you," I quickly assure him. "It's my spark. I'm not used to having _all_ sensors on." For a moment it felt like a mini overcharged Ironhide took residence in my chest, moving irregularly with heavy pedsteps. Jazz's reaction interrupted the drunken pacing.

I step back and let him into the room. I follow him the short distance to the room's center while using my hands against my furniture and walls for guidance.

Jazz stopped by my two comfy chairs, each angled to either watch the screen or for discussions. I rarely use the television and often thought of giving it to the Rec Room, but the idea of competing televisions in one room always kills that prospect.

Jazz noticed my weird walk. While leaning against my chair he quietly elaborated on what I already suspect. "You left before Ratchet could explain about your doorwings and the remaining medications in your systems. He cursed a few details he didn't get to explain when you were there."

"I'm amazed that I managed to leave without him chasing me down, or that he isn't here now."

Jazz snickered briefly and awkwardly, as if he wanted to laugh but his mood lacked humor. "I think you're the first mech to tell him 'no' and then discharge yourself from his medical care. If it weren't for the unusual situation then you'd probably have only made it ten steps before being dragged back by the doorwings. Prime asked if Ratchet wanted you hauled down to Medbay and Ratchet's response was a long-winded way of saying, 'let that slagger suffer the consequences of stepping out.'"

"I'm not certain if that means I can relax or should add new safety buffers between me and him. By 'unusual situation', do you mean me?"

The corner of Jazz's mouth tweaked slightly and he sharply tapped his index finger against the chair. "More like the unusual ad hoc meeting in his Medbay."

"What was the outcome?"

"That we'd adjourn until Prime called for another meeting. There was a lot of discussion and bickering what's the appropriate response to someone hiding an existing person situation that's integral to their role here, and what each response might do the _Ark_ 's environment. We couldn't make up our minds if it was a blatant attempt to hide a pre-existing medical problem or a very personal disability. Ratchet started off on 'fragging hider' but ended up being almost half-and-half. Still definitely on the side of being angry. At that point Prime called for an end."

My vocalizer somehow thickened as he spoke, resulting in me only muttering, "Ah." Based on the low hum of my spark it doesn't like Jazz's meeting cliffnotes. This is the quietest it's been since Medbay. Still, that hum isn't something I'd normally feel. I need to talk to Ratchet but markedly my timing will require consideration for my overall safety and manner of approach. While a normal mech would have all sensors on at all times, mine were all replaced with stronger and unique sensitivities. I'm currently experiencing the "maximum" setting, an idea based on theoretical situations and an untested hypothesis. We never passed half-on settings because we stopped to address other concerns.

I need to sit. My lopsided doorwing weight is making standing difficult. I almost waddle to the nearest comfy chair and plop down. I hear Jazz laugh before he tries stifling it. I suddenly smile when he poorly fails. It's not a big smile but it is genuine.

"Sorry," he chuckles after regaining control. He joins me in the other chair. His hands finally stopping moving and his back is less tense.

I'm not asking him why he's here because it'll put the tension right back. "How are you?" I inquire with a light smile. Hopefully my smile offsets any leftover tension from my pre-battle actions. The thought brings my spark right out of its quiet attitude with a pang. That pang causes an involuntary clenched left hand. I force it back open and disguise it as readjusting my arm on the chair. The motion of unclenching my first turned into tingling along my fingers, though. I'm not bothering with extrapolating whatever emotion that is.

His posture tightens but then he slowly relaxes. "Pretty well. Been hanging out with friends and going out to events. Everyone's been cheery. I think..." he stops abruptly but then resumes slowly finishing his last word until he's softly biting his lip.

"You can say it. You aren't going to hurt my feelings." My spark's maybe, but not mine.

"It sounds dumb."

"You rarely say dumb things."

"That's sweet of you," he playfully scoffs. "I wasn't planning on saying anything but apparently the unplanned just tried slipping out. So... so, thanks you for not making what happened between us a problem on the _Ark_. I realize you took all the blame without making it a problem for anyone else. It's selfish of me, I know, but it was less hard on me since it was also less hard on everyone else."

My spark flickers and hums, drawing up a tenseness from my energon tanks. I refuse to ask him why he ignored me if he was content, rather choosing to focus on the positive interpretation of his words. "I'm glad I didn't cost you any extra pain beyond that joor." I never felt anything while it was happening and I don't feel glad now, but I knew Jazz didn't deserve any problems. I did lead him on. I think perhaps I wasn't trying to? I know I pushed back that half-online point for him, the point where my friend lost his certainty. I never truly fathomed why but I was hoping to eventually understand with near certainty.

He wrings his hands once and then cautiously asks, "How are you?"

I knew the question was coming even before I sat down and I'd been thinking about it since. "I am as I expected to be." I leave out the part about the building pressure in my processor from trying to absorb all the sensors. It's completely unexpected, but I don't have a choice and Jazz can't do anything about it.

"Don't be cryptic."

"I am not trying to be cryptic. I just don't know how to accurately answer that question. Jazz, you asked me to be honest with you. This is honestly the best I can do for the moment."

The tension in his face falls but not in a good way. Immediately I offer, "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be depressing or secretive. It just takes a lot out of me to try finding those types of answers. I'm not up to the challenge right now."

"Are you hurting?" I think he's staring at my left doorwing. Is it moving? I mentally check and I can sense a slight tremble in it. Does he look at my doorwings the same now that he knows more about my situation?

"I need to ask - probably more like plead with - Ratchet to let me turn off at least half of the spark sensors. Preferably all but two. I used to only operate with two." Our spark chambers are made with enough sensors to detect the slightest localized signs of anomalies or risks in our spark. Two sensors aren't enough for anything beyond an impending hemispheric problem. Better than nothing. Currently I feel like I'm getting localized input for constant humming and even small "clutches" when Jazz's body language takes on negative aspects.

"Do they hurt?" He's surprised. I'm sure normal mechs with normal sensors don't feel it at all. Their spark's emotions are their emotions. They truly are a seamless singular unit whereas I'm broken into at least three pieces.

"To a certain amount." And growing.

"Ratchet's not going to do anything right now unless you can offer something really good. He's seriously upset and worried about the strain your spark has undergone for so long."

"Hmm. It's uncomfortable now but a joor's worth of discomfort may help convey my issue to Ratchet. Maybe."

We talk for just over another four breems about Ratchet and his typical attitude. I'm careful to leave myself out of our observations and Jazz seems to know and respect that. Disturbingly, I'm rapidly wearing down from the whispering room and uncomfortable warmth. I'm already fairly certain I won't make it to the first half of my shift. I should just access the roster and move it to the following shift-change. That'll generate a red flag for Prime but not nearly as bad as me missing the shift I so eloquently demanded to work.

"You're grimacing." Jazz cuts my planning short.

"I need to recharge but I expect it'll take longer than normal. I'm debating on how to address that."

"You need to recharge now?"

"Yes. It will take some time." I gesture to my chest. "Extra sensors drag out powering down." Am I starting to get comfortable talking about me? That's strange. The pain in my processor must really be making an impact. "I don't mean to be rude, but if you please," I indicate the door by tilting my head because I can't bring myself to say the word "leave". A certain 'someone' in this body has issues with that and is constricting my vocalizer.

Jazz looks at the door and then back at me. "Yeah, sure," he mumbles as he stands; however, once he's on both peds he looks at me instead of continuing his direction. After rocking his peds while managing to stay in place he moves into a kneeling position by the monitor Ratchet practically wielded to my right arm. Ratchet fed some wires underneath my arm and chest armor so I can't pull his sensors out. I know because I already tried.

I'm uncomfortable having Jazz this close but I manage to refrain from moving, including my doorwings. I think I smell the lingering aroma of a type of lubricant that "waters up" around our optics to keep them clear of dirt and dust. I hear it's also sometimes an emotional response to various types of pain. I can't see Jazz's optics beneath his visor so I don't know if I'm detecting that right. I know my spark is twisting painfully with the smell and my tanks are becoming nauseous. I know it couldn't have happened while he was here so I disagree with my spark's apparent assumption that it understands.

He tentatively touches a side of the monitor. "I can disrupt it so you can power off those sensors without it telling Ratchet. This monitor detects changes in your sensors, not their individual state."

"You'll help me?"

"If you can't recharge, then yeah. I'll take care of your shift issue as well. I only have one stipulation."

"Yes?"

"I stay here until it's time for you to leave, and then I turn them back on. Ratchet seriously went off about the state of your spark. He's worried about a stress-induced spark-attack."

Oh. I must be missing something then, or Ratchet is simply worried because he's not a spark specialist. I can't think of a single Autobot who received quality spark-health training. Before the war that specialty existed as an occupancy but once the war started everything moved to the more physical realm. After all, a spark's role in war is surviving or terminate. Measuring the effectiveness of surviving isn't something war allows as a realistic use of the limited medical resource personnel.

"I accept your terms."

"Good." Jazz uses his magnetic pulses and when he nods I quickly flip off the sensors. I return the nod and he stops.

"Alright you, off to recharge." He helps me up and into my berth followed by grabbing a datapad off my desk I use to update master schedules through Teletraan. I crawl/slide across it to the wall and slowly turn around so my back is protected. By the time I settle down with my doorwings Jazz sets down the datapad. He calls for lights out and my room responds. Now the only light is what filters from the hallway through the bottom and top of my door.

"What did you list as justification?" I ask, fighting the lull of recharge for a moment. "When do I need to report in?"

"Never mind that. I'll let you know when it's time. Are you comfortable?"

"Yes," I answer, my vision already fading.

"Good." I expected Jazz to rest in a chair but he joins me on my berth. It's not exactly built for the comfort of two mechs resting side-by-side but Jazz isn't intent on that. He pulls up close to me and puts his audio horn against my chest.

My vision brightens for a moment. "What are you doing?"

"Listening to your spark." He hooks his fingers around the seams of my chest armor, locking himself into place. "I don't want to risk you having a quiet spark-attack during recharge."

Suddenly I wish I could talk to my spark but I can't risk triggering Ratchet's ire. I think what my spark might do. I think it'd share the sense of security? I can feel tension in his entire body, but Jazz's hips and legs in particular don't look comfortable. I recall he likes sleeping on his back with his legs propped because it's easier on his hip struts. Some of his permanent damage (what Ratchet can't rebuild due to non-existent specialty supplies) causes a full recharge to become painful if his legs aren't properly supported. I ask my battle simulator how to help. It answers and gingerly I reach out and pull his waist closer so his back is straighter and supported by my soft hold. I move my top leg and slip it between his legs to support his top leg, thus taking the stress of his hip strut and knee. My other leg presses against his bottom leg to keep it from rolling out from under him.

His visor glows briefly and I can feel the tension slowly releasing in his body. As he relaxes his audio horn presses closer. I can feel the tips of his fingers curl tighter. I ask him, "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes," he answers so quietly I nearly miss it.

"If it hurts or becomes uncomfortable, please let me -"

"Sssh," Jazz gently interrupts. "I can't hear your spark if you talk."

I decrease power to my non-essential auxiliary systems until they're almost completely idle. "Then this should help reduce noise interference. Good night, Jazz."

"Good night, Prowler."

 

|\/\/\/|

 

I come out of recharge easily for the first time in a very long time. Before I power on my optics I can feel soft touches around my torso sides, near my hip seams. He seems to be tracing something.

I power on my optics and look at Jazz. His audio horn is still pressed against my chest and one hand is still grasping the top of my chest armor but he's focused on my torso's side. His free hand is lightly moving along that area. I slide my head to peer closer, putting my helm near his. His hand pauses and his helm bobs briefly before he continues on.

I see he's tracing my scars. Scars are telling on a Cybertronian. If one was covered in scars then chances were they saw those scars as a part of their battle pride and refused to let their medics fix them. Scars are formed by our internal healing system rapidly building up meshing material to close off open wounds. For those who didn't see their scars a pride, said markings are thin because bigger injuries result in more intrusive matters. Those likely require rebuilds or replacement.

Depending on the scars, you could tell if a mech didn't have access to immediate medical facilities when injured, or if he was unable to receive later treatment from a medical area fully stocked with the needed materials. Most facilities aren't fully stocked so they're reluctant to use the materials on repairing small wounds or scar material. Ratchet does what he can to undo scars, declaring it wrong that the Decepticons should leave their lasting marks on our bodies, like they did to irreparably mar our world.

Concerning what I called cosmetic scarring, or scars that don't interfere with functions and movements, I never had anything but my face, chevron, and hands fixed. Optimus, Jazz, the Twins, Bluestreak, and other fighters deserved that material reserve more than me. Ratchet and I butted heads more than once over that but he always relents because there's always someone else who needs it. The last time we argued it was settled after Sideswipe was attacked by Dead End. While the frontliner was out Ratchet discovered some scarring. The repairs consumed the last of Ratchet's spare supplies for the deca-orn.

Jazz was tracing one of my scars, his fingers landing stopping over one that looked more like a knot. "Where did you get this?"

"Starscream."

"Why didn't you get it fix?"

"It doesn't bother me any. It's not causing interference and Starscream doesn't know it's from him so there's no power in it."

"But you have a memory of Starscream literally carved into you."

"I haven't thought about it in a long time. Praxus was only recently destroyed when I got that." I slowly pulled away from him but suddenly he tightened his grasp and clamped his legs around mine.

He kept scanning my body with his finger tips. His helm moved upward until he was looking at my left doorwing. "How many do you have?"

"I don't know. I know a couple are from when I lost my friend that gave me my spark adapter." I have my reasons for not letting those scars be taken from me. "Most are from losing Praxus and efforts to find survivors. It didn't seem right to spend time in a medical tent instead of searching for survivors, and it was a long time before there were supplies for anyone who wasn't a survivor. By then I accepted it."

"What about now?"

"Ratchet and I have been over this plenty. Really, when you take into account that it's been since we lost Praxus, it's not that many."

He murmured, "Can't believe I never noticed these."

"Why? Have you snuck up on me recharging before?" He lets go of my chest briefly and smacks me playfully before returning to his hold. "Only the medics know. I don't exactly have a glossy polish or flashy paint job. You'll find most of my scars _just happen_ to be around my black paint. One has to be very close to see them, and even then most can only be detected by touch."

"It doesn't upset you?"

I used one hand to pull his chin up to see my face rather than the scars. "No," I answer while using my other hand to tap my helm. Odd, my own reservations about talking about myself are dwindling at the moment.

Jazz frowned. "I see."

"Please stop frowning. It seems to be the norm around me. It's a rather discouraging."

He smoothed out his frown but didn't smile. He took my hand touching his chin and simply held it. His other hand traced my seams and scars on my front. I let him while we shared few words for almost a quarter joor.

Jazz's auxiliary fans sudden came online as he squeezed my hand. "Time for us to get moving."

"Is it time for my shift?"

"Yeah, yours and mine. I moved them both." Jazz let me go and we untangled ourselves. He helped me out of the berth and found me a rod from a modulated table support, which he fashioned as a cane wither other modulated parts. He handed it to me. "To offset the doorwing weight issue."

"Surely I'll learn how to compensate."

"Between here and your office?" he grinned and thrusted it into my hand. I tried figuring out how to use the rudimentary device to offset an upper body weight issue. "I could help you and then spend the shift with you in your office."

"Thank you but no. I suspect without any understanding, you and I walking around together might cause a whole new wave of tension through the _Ark_." He pressed his lips thin and rested one balled fist on his waist. "Don't Jazz. We don't need you arguing with mechs who only care about you. Or just like being afts, whichever we'd run into first. I don't want to explain myself to anyone. We can deal with it later."

"Explain what?"

"Another time," I reiterate. "I'm assuming you need to go back to your quarters. I'll be walking slower so I should leave now."

"Yeah I do." He steps closer to my right arm. "Sorry, Prowl, but I can't risk you offlining on us."

"This has been an on-going risk. You and the rest shouldn't act like I'm suddenly at death's door."

"We just found out about this!" he retorted. "I'm not risking anything being the straw to your camel's back."

"What?"

"It means - oh, never mind. Get ready to flip on the sensors. All of them. Less than 100% sensors mean less than 100% coverage." Like before, he uses his magnetic pulses to interrupt Ratchet's not-so-handy device, and I reluctantly bring half the sensors online. When I tell him it's done he shakes his head.

"I saw the difference in your optics when you went from 100% to 0% coverage. Finish turning them on."

I can already feel glowing warmth in my spark, like an early sun on a summer morning. I don't want to continue but I won't start a fight over it. Jazz watches me carefully and this time he stops after I tell him I'm done.

He asks, "You're not hurting, right?"

"No, I'm not." So far my spark is warm but my chest armor isn't, while the whispering is almost non-existent.

Awkwardly I walk with the cane to the door. The hallway is empty, but that's not surprising since the officer hall is usually busy after the primary shift ends, and that's in six breems.

I usher Jazz out and lock the door behind him. He grins, "see you later." He leaves to his own close quarters, and I detect a small bounce in his steps. My spark flutters in-tune with his bounce. It's positively singing with extra energy and I feel a burst of lightheadedness.

I leave the opposite direction, working my way to my office while slowly figuring out how to walk without my cane for my lopsided weight. I ought to comm' Ratchet and inquire when he'll remove the medical contraption but I'm still leery of him.

I actually make it to my office fairly smoothly. By the time I came across my first group of Autobots I was carrying the cane around. When asked about it I called it my punishment stick. Their reactions amuse me.

About ten breems into my shift my door chimes. I'm tempted to hide beneath my desk since I don't have that back door yet. My lights are on so whoever's out there knows I'm in here. "Come in," I acknowledge.

The door reveals Prime. Immediately I notice where the grate to the biggest air duct is located. I chastise myself for thinking that. There's no way I can get through any grate faster than Prime can grab my leg. For the moment I'll keep my dignity because the only other option is escaping and kicking Prime like a youngling.

"Prowl."

"Yes, Prime?"

"How are you feeling now that you're up?"

"I am functioning acceptably within my personal parameters. You are coming off of the primary shift, correct? Is there anything you want me to focus on?" My sensors detected a spike of activity from my spark since Prime stepped in, including a rushing heightened awareness of my surroundings. My vocalizer is tense, along with the muscle cables in my neck. My best guess is that it means something along the lines of "please drop the issue of whether or not I betrayed the Autobots." That's what's running in the back of my processor, anyways.

"What do you define as your personal parameters?"

"My parameters haven't changed since before the battle, only your awareness has. I understand I am not the same as I was to you as I was a deca-orn ago, but I am the same as I have been for vorns." I reply politely while monitoring my voice before my tense vocalizer can add intonation.

"I want to be aware of all your parameters, Prowl. If I'm to make an educated decision on what possible options are available to you and the Autobots, then I need to know exactly what I've been missing."

Gradually I offer a slight nod while smothering a frown. "Of course. I haven't put much consideration into it but I can make a datapad for you."

"That's not entirely accurate, is it? You not putting much consideration into something."

"I mean definitions and comprehensions for others. For example, do you know the link between the spark and involuntary actions, especially in doorwings?"I pause briefly so he can answer my redundant question to himself but not comment aloud. "I have seven parameters to gauge the state of health of the link between my doorwings and spark. Typically I ignore four of them in favor of not constantly dwelling on myself, as those four and thirteen other parameters would require if I focused on them all."

"How many parameters do you have?"

"Twenty-two."

"And how many are about your spark?"

I barely stop my doorwings from twitching upright with that question. I might have to make a decision I don't want to be dealing with this early after being exposed. "Directly or indirectly?"

"Both."

I flickered my optics away from Prime as if my primary monitor just displayed something important. "Indirectly is approximately half. Directly is..." three, plus that adapter. "Six, in addition to the spark sensor-net adapter." Does it count as incorrect doubling if doorwings and hands each exist in pairs, and my processor and battle computer are technically two separate parts?

Prime's posture told me he wanted higher numbers so I gave it to him. Courteous of my many, many report-outs I learned some of Prime's tells. His optics rest lower if he wants the numbers low (like casualties), and his chin points up for higher numbers (like energon estimates). Smokescreen would take all of his betting credits in a handful of games. Jazz uses it to gauge how well he's applying his "office smarts" to get something.

Prime acknowledges it with a short nod. "Please send me a detailed report of those six and the adapter before the end of your shift. Will you be back on primary shift next time?"

"It's my intention, barring any medical issues with these doorwings."

"We'll plan accordingly and adapt for whatever you need. I want that report for my own review on my next shift, and I want a report on all remaining parameters available for my following shift. There were some concerns about how this condition affects you in battle and demands you be tested."

I quickly interject, "Again, I am the same. If you didn't question me before, then the only reason to question me now is not because of me but your comfort."

"I realize that. I also realize finding someone suited to make that determination while successfully keeping it a complete secret would be time-consuming and difficult. It's the sort of situation that requires someone off of the _Ark_ to perform so there's never a doubt in any Autobot's mind when you make tough calls."

Finally, some logical in their approach. My restless spark is quelled for a moment. "I will get you that information by both deadlines."

"And you will stay in regular contact with Ratchet," Prime finished with an order. "At the start and end of each shift, _his_ schedule pertaining."

Can't you just let Ironhide yell at me instead? I'm sure he wants to and there's less chance of flying wrenches with flying tempers. "I will do so starting next shift."

"Starting the end of this shift. Ratchet is off-duty right now and I'm not certain he'd accept a report from First Aid. Since First Aid is the only attending active this shift I'd rather not waste his time, nor do I want Ratchet's rest interrupted over it. With your sensors online I doubt you'll offline without some warning," Prime added with a drawl.

"Ratchet should still be off-duty when my shift is done," I press my argument.

"Yes, but even though he works the primary shift, we all know he regularly checks-in with secondary and tertiary shifts. He's agreed to put off his secondary-shift check until the very end of said shift. Just for you."

Yeah, I'm getting hit by a wrench. "Acknowledged, Prime." With well-wishes he leaves and I turn to my primary monitor screen, hardwired into Teletraan. Obviously I'm not working those datapads into a system where others might gain access to the data. They'll be their own unfiled datapads. I'm not looking forward to generating the first report right now so I'm focusing on my regular workload. Between the electronically-submitted files and the datapads I'll have plenty to do. I certainly won't finish them before I'm scheduled to see Ratchet, even without Prime's newest required report. It'll be interesting how I can string three parameters into six without sounding like I'm stretching the truth.

My break comes around and Jazz hails me for a shared break, reminding me of my remaining promised seven that apparently still count. I persuade him to wait until at least next shift, between my incomplete work and the probability him walking into my office with energon cubes will get others twitchy. He replied with "frag 'em" and I said "later." He laughed and agreed to my request. I don't leave to get any energon.

My problems with the adapter are getting wore than I even projected. My processor is having "pseudo-glitches" from the excessive input. It's picking up tiny fluxuations, an incredibly common normality that's now flooding me with data. I'm starting to take regular mini-breaks just to get it under control. It's plenty obvious at this point that I'll have to convince Ratchet to let me turn at least half off. Hopefully it's as simple as letting him see the readout.

It's now a joor from the end of my shift. I finished my report for Prime and I'm sitting carefully behind my primary monitor in case anyone steps in without announcing themselves. I have my optics and audios off but my hand is resting on a pad that vibrates when my door opens. This position gives me a klik's chance of turning everything back on before someone thinks I fell into stasis. I managed to find the best sitting position so my chair cradles my left doorwing to dampen the receivers from picking up vibrations. Most of my right doorwing's sensors are blocked by the bandages. I just might opt for keeping this off-center weight issue if I need artificial methods of input dampening.

Luckily no one enters and when my chronometer alerts me about the nearing medical check deadline so I online my optics and audios. I lock everything down, discard my datapad in a locked dropoff box at Prime's office, and make my way to Medbay with stick/cane. I'm trying very hard to walk straight. Logically there's no reason for me to need it but twice I had to use the cane since leaving my office.

Tentatively I poke my head through the Medbay doors and instantly receive a very snarky and fake-happy greeting. "Good of you to finally join us, Mr. Exempt-From-Regulations!" Ratchet's sitting at a sidewall's work bench but facing me, glaring and rapping his fingers on his crossed arms.

"I'm here as ordered."

"No, you were ordered to be here at the end of the shift, not make your way here after the shift ends, Mr. Inconvenient." He gets up, wrench in hand, and makes his way over to me. I fight cringing when he approaches and jabs the wrench into my doorwing's bandages. "You, back corner. Now." He pushes.

"Ratchet, please do not push me by my doorwing," I protest while walking.

"I will do as I please, just like you think you can."

"You're tenderness as a healer knows no bounds," my dry humor once again slips out. That's helping my goal.

"You're sure fragging right."

We're finally in the back corner which is one of the few areas with a closed room. I climb up on the berth and lean back on the attachment meant to secure my back around my doorwings. Ratchet starts poking around my doorwings while muttering about stupid tacticians, acid damage, and getting what said stupid tacticians deserve. This time I manage to hold back my comment about his boundless love.

"Well, they're healing fine. At this rate I can take off the bandages and turn on the pain sensors in about three joors."

"That long?"

"Acid damage, remember? You had extensive pitting. It's why you use that gun, dummy." Ratchet explains like I have more processor damage than just emotion subroutines.

"Half the reason," I correct. "It does plenty of other damage."

"Whatever. Your leftwing will probably heal by tomorrow but the right wing had plenty of pitting. Since you don't bother getting your scars cleaned up properly, I turned off your self-healing abilities while I was undoing your attempt to add extra side windows. Those bandages are coated to minimize any pitting scars."

"So the left doorwing's bandages may come off tomorrow."

"No, because I don't feel like it. See what it's like when someone does what they want to rather than what's best?"

"If you mean about me not disclosing something typical for me but atypical for you, then that's hardly the same. If you mean from when I last saw you, then I'm sorry for leaving but you did spring an accusing committee on me."

His grouchy expression softened slightly. "It wasn't supposed to be that many. Perceptor and Wheeljack were with me when I figured it out. I took the news straight to Optimus and ranted as soon as I cleared the door. How was I supposed to know Jazz and Ironhide were there on their downtime, just out of sight?" Ratchet shrugged. "Could be worse. Red could've been there."

"Thank Primus for the small miracles."

"Yeah, well once 'longtime CPU-damaged tactician' hit their audios everyone was adamant to get the story straight for you. As far as I'm concerned, you gave me only half the story. Why the Pit didn't you tell me, like I don't know, ever? And you and I have a long history of 'ever' so don't even try some snarky answer."

"Ratchet, I would never attempt to meet your level of snarkiness."

"Or stalling. Don't even try stalling. I'm using the only non-emergency private room I've got here so you can't hide behind the risk of being overheard and undermining the Autobots' trust in you."

"Fine, I never told you because it happened before the war and there's nothing you can do about it. Well before I met you I accepted it as a part of me. I know you're intending on trying to treating this like an injury but if my friend couldn't do it, and his plans involved making processor damage his specialty, then what can you – a wartime CMO – do? I don't doubt you have exceptional skills, but you are limited to what's available to you for use or gaining/maintaining experience."

"As CMO and the Prime's prime medical provider, I have a lot of pull. If it exists anywhere within Autobot territory or with friendly-ish neutrals I can get it; it's only a matter of time."

"Really? Then why hasn't Jazz's hip struts being complete fixed?"

That took him off-guard. He grunted, crossed his arms, and angrily tapped his fingers against an arm again. "There's very slight damage remaining. I could remove it entirely because it's his hidden pocket for saboteur tools and not part of a normal hip strut. He just refuses."

"Wait, please repeat that. He's got pockets underneath his armor?"

"Being the upgrade-loving sneaky SOB he is, Jazz has several modifications that allow him to hide emergency tools and weapons in case he's captured. The one that runs along the middle of his back took some heat damaged, resulting in minor reforming with a more curled position. It's only a problem when he's prone for a certain amount of time, depending on the environment, because it pushes on muscle cables. Unfortunately the raw material supplies are in Shockwave's domain. Like you, he puts his job way above personal comfort; he's just better at managing it. Here I thought the most likely culprit to pull something over me was him. Wheeljack is very close to making a substitute material and a few others for some other mechs."

I raise my optic ridge. Ratchet snaps, "He's not going to explode Jazz! Now, back onto you. Less stalling, more on your special brand of unbelievable problems. You'll tell me everything about your spark sensors now before I examine them, or else risk me doing it blind of whatever you're hiding."

I almost missed his demand, still mulling over the new information about Jazz. Evidently I'm not the only one keeping personal configurations and limitations to himself among my small collection of personal relationships. I recognize the resulting spark emotion from the realization as annoyance. "I don't have all the details and no records remain, so I can only provide a rough outline. The original sensors over my spark were replaced with sensors with double sensitivity. Later he thought he should have only replaced about a third of them due to _over_ sensitivity. It's never been corrected. The idea was to pick up on my spark's emotions since it can't communicate to my processor via the normal method. Additional sensors along my body have also been heightened but those are primarily hands, peds, and doorwings. They're more supplemental than anything."

"Then what's their purpose?"

"Just added input to construct a better comprehension of involuntary behaviors and responses. I don't use them that much," I added off-handedly. "They don't bother me nearly as much as the spark ones. The spark ones are causing me non-stop pain."

"Why? Are they faulty or flawed?"

"They are overfeeding my processor with information, and it seems the sensors can overheat when they're all on. I suspect the problems are from being flawed sensors. I've received no fault-generated messages regarding the issue or even the sensors. There was no known faults before my friend deactivated but we were in the midst of testing."

"And testing usually has some troubleshooting. How involved were you in the testing? I'm not talking about being the test subject, but the other aspects."

"I assisted him where possible but most I left it up to him and his resources. It wasn't in my area of expertise."

"So for all you know, no diagnostic link was established to your processor to provide faults."

I thought about the handful of modification stages, what the changes were, and my friend's method of post-surgical checkups. "I don't recall it being on the list of completed installations. He had numerous readout devices that bypassed my awareness. It was a sort of blind testing so my reactions wouldn't be effected by outside perception. If you did not see one while doing your investigation, then it is very like there is none."

Ratchet stared at my chest for almost three breems. It was uncomfortable but I wasn't about to interrupt. Finally he verbalized his conclusion. "I'm going to get as much information as I can about the sensors, their individual state, and see how your friend may have set his monitors to discreetly gather information. If I can find it then I can connect my equipment to it. Otherwise I'll have to construct something. _Then_ I'll come up with a plan to deal with the situation. I'll put you offline while I do this because it's would otherwise be tedious and uncomfortable for you. Consider that my apology for springing the 'Prowl's been a bad mech' committee. I was planning to make you suffer."

"What love and consideration. During this time will you deal with the constant pain?"

"I am not turning off any sensors. I'll see what I can do but it won't be that. At the very least I'll find the source or cause of you pain." I reluctantly agreed to his limits and shortly afterwards I offlined.

 

|\/\/\/|

 

As soon as I felt my conscious returning I booted my optics and searched for Ratchet. I saw him through the door's window, just outside and talking to Perceptor. He glanced my direction, dismissed Perceptor, and returned. My gaze lingered on Perceptor until he disappeared. Was that disappointment on his face? What is it for me or another patient?

Ratchet spoke first, waiting until the door closes. "How does your processor, chest, and spark feel?"

I check all three. "My processor no longer hurts, and I can't feel my chest or spark. I thought you weren't turning off the sensors."

"I didn't. It's a medication Perceptor made while I was working on your sensors." I immediately checked my chronometer after hearing that a medication for my unique situation was theorized, created, and delivered while I was offline.

I'm unable to prevent my voice from dropping an octave. "Why was I offline all of the tertiary shift and the first third of primary shift?"

"When I first found out about the sensors I only did preliminary checking. Once I figured out you turned them off I decided to wait to hear it from you as to why before digging in deeper. I knew investigating would take awhile after I realized it wasn't standard parts.

"Basically it amounts to this: yes, there's tiny diagnostic connection points but they are part of the problem. I take it he used a quick-disconnect transmitter so he could get what he needed without having you constantly a source of transmission. At some point the quick-disconnect ports were jammed – perhaps from a hard landing during battle, I don't know – so the diagnostic system thought the transmitter was always installed. The connection points are trying to send information. I don't know how long that's been happening but when I connected my tools to it there was an immediate overload of an overflowing memory cache constantly dumping information. I found stored data in a different memory bank and it has limited data spanning back a total of ten deca-cyles, which is its max. The sensors are faulty from being flawed and in-use for some time. For whatever it's worth, it's about a fourth of the total sensors that fall under that category. The flaws themselves were probably minuscule when your friend was working on them, but unkempt prototype equipment tends to degrade after vorns."

"What are the flaws?"

"As you suspected, they can overheat…" Ratchet's voice suddenly cuts off.

Immediately I suspect the source for overheating is something Ratchet doesn't want to vocalize. He starts speaking again but I interrupt him. "Why are they overheating?"

"They are overheating because of the diagnostic tools constantly 'talking' to the sensors. I did correct the problem."

"That's not all, though."

"Close enough."

"Ratchet, if you want me to trust you so this is a two-way communication then tell me. You wouldn't have paused a moment ago if that's all it was."

"I'm not lying to you but there's an aspect to this you wouldn't understand because it requires a medical background." There was a distinct pause and when he started again, Ratchet was quieter and his ped started shifting as if standing was uncomfortable. "It's also overheating due to the sensitivity to a spark that's getting more expressive."

I gave him a suspicious look. "How could you possibly know that? You said the memory banks were full and dumping information."

"It also saved the last three successful transmissions. The cache is dumping information but there's a program that stores some of it on the second memory bank. It's about five deca-orns worth of limited high-level key information, and then about an additional five deca-orns worth of suppressed summarizations. When I interrupted the cache dump I was able to access the last two orns. I obviously don't have the readout software that's compatible with your modifications, but my own did determine the differences between the old data, the newer data, and the newest data. When comparing that to the overheating orns logged by your other systems, it determined it was based on the activity level your spark was projecting."

Suddenly everything seemed dimmer. Not my vision but the world in general. "Give me the breakdown since I last onlined in the Medbay." Ratchet didn't answer; his fingers started fidgeting. I've never seen fidgeting before. Angry shaking, angry tapping, angry waving, and the occasional scared shake before it's gone and replaced with steady medic hands. Never fidgeting. "Ratchet, you owe me an explanation about my own body and spark."

"I know… According to the data, there was distress after leaving Medbay, recharge, distress again followed by immediate growing sense of contentment. Right before another recharge and immediately afterwards it was very happy." His voice dropped to levels of kindness I didn't think possible for him. "I won't pry into what you were happy about, but a spark produces a lot of energy when it's feeling positive emotions. It's one reason why pleasant moments give us energy; our sparks are literally giving us more power to embrace the moment."

"That's why my spark felt warm."

"Yes, followed by several sensors overheating." He stopped talking and remained quiet, allowing me to process everything I just learned.

Finally I spoke, after however many breems; time seemed irrelevant. "Basically happiness causes my sensors to flood my processor and overheat my chest."

"No! Sure, at this point a non-medical mech _might_ construe it that way, but I am a medic and I know that it's just energy being strongly projected. What's tied to the energy increase is more how we at the spark-level express ourselves. The right training and you can easily be complacent without issue. True, at this time you can't have Bumblebee's outgoing sense of happiness, but that's not your style so you aren't losing anything.

"I've got Wheeljack and Perceptor on it, and I'll keep on this. Perceptor made medication that should dull the processor pain. He and I are working on a filter to cut down some of the noise being fed to your processor. Wheeljack modified a cooling blanket to fit under your chest armor, resting between the armor and the sensors. It should almost completely remove the pain of overheating. I can't turn off the sensors, Prowl. Your spark may be experiencing happiness more and more often these orns – or perhaps longer, only you could guess – but it has suffered a lot of stress for a long time. It still does, between those moments of happiness. Your spark's at risk for other problems and you need those sensors working to know if something goes wrong. Considering everything you just learned, I expect you're undergoing even more stress than even your normal levels."

He waited for a comment or reaction. I give him none. I don't want to react. Finally he continued, "We're working on the situation. The plan is either to replace them with normal sensors or build you a new sensor net. The first requires a shipment from Cybertron and I've already put in an order for that. The second is something Wheeljack and I intend to pursue just in case."

"Why?" I almost silently ask.

"Because in your current processor predicament, you won't be able to feel your spark with normal sensors. They'll still supply the normal alerts if something happens, but normal sensors aren't built for the extra capabilities that yours have. Our main plan is finding a way to repair your processor and then you won't need your own special sensor net. I took as much information from your processor and systems as I could so I can study it and find a way. Processor tools for that caliber aren't standard medical equipment and will have to come from Cybertron. I'll put in the request as soon as I can figure it out and I'll slap Prime's signature all over it with the highest of priorities," he promised.

"Are you even sure Cybertron will have what you want?"

"Already built? No, not everything. I already know that. We can get the materials to make the tools from Cybertron and Wheeljack can make them here."

"I see. What's your plan for me until you have something tangible?"

"For now you'll keep coming here twice a day and we'll check the cooling blanket while giving you the medication. We're going to keep it to Earth's shorter days than Cybertronian times. If everything goes well for a while I can give you your own supplies so you only have to report in once a shift."

Perceptor's face popped into my mind, his expression etched with the earlier disappoint I saw earlier. "Why did Perceptor look disappointed when he left here?"

"You saw that?"

"Yes."

"Great. I hate the observant non-medical mechs. Your system is already starting to show an immunity to the medication. Perceptor's fairly sure that's just a few tweaks of the formula. I did force him to design and create it quicker than he likes. His disappointment was in his miscalculations, not you or your systems."

"And if it isn't just a few tweaks?"

"Well, if we can't solve it, and the parts or materials don't get here from Cybertron anytime soon, then I suppose you'll _eventually_ start feeling the same pain you felt today. That's like scenario number eight, though, based on our estimate for the time it'd take to build a tolerance level of that caliber."

I can't believe this is happening. Numbly I mumbled the existing scenario in my head. "I wonder if being happy increases my immunity, just like it increases the pain."

"No, not at all," he reinforces almost aggressively. "Happiness doesn't cause pain and your sparking isn't building a resistance to the medication, it's your overprotective processor defense systems." He placed one hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry about it right now. The signs of immunity are very small and we'll rectify the issue. May even by your next check-in. You shouldn't build a noticeable immunity for a while and we'll have you on the medication as long as it makes some small difference. Even if we don't solve in the next few check-ins, it'll still probably be four deca-cyles before you'll notice anything."

I tried letting that all sink in. "Thank you for explaining the situation. I wish to recharge in my own quarters."

Ratchet nodded and pulled me off the berth. I tried walking but the lopsided weight almost toppled me as if the bad news sapped the strength out of my muscle cables. Ratchet grabbed me and steadied my stance. He immediately offered to take me back to my quarters. I declined and pulled out my cane. "I'd rather have a chance to reflect during my walk."

"Don't do anything rash."

"When have I ever been rash?"

"True. Let me at least help you out of Medbay."

Mercifully Medbay is empty, save one offline mech on the "routine checkup" berth. I wasn't interested in determining who it was. I made it out the doors and thanked Ratchet before gimping back to my quarters. I didn't bother asking if I was supposed to report in for this shift or any other shift. I really don't care.

I was near my door when Jazz suddenly appeared, jogging around a corner. He almost slid to a stop. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry?" I force a calm voice from my numb vocalizer.

"What's wrong?" he repeated. "Bumblebee saw you and said you were moving pretty slow."

"Why do you assume something is wrong?"

"You were walking okay earlier, then you're in Medbay for a while and now you're walking slowly."

"I need to recharge."

Jazz didn't immediately respond, perhaps waiting for me to continue or elaborate. "Oh, okay." He paused. "Do you need help getting recharge?"

"Aren't you on shift?"

He waved dismissively. "I'm a master at moving my schedule around." He reached out and brushed his fingers against the monitor still on my arm. "Do you need help?"

"No, I won't require your assistance. The immediate issue has been resolved. Thank you."

Jazz's optic ridges furrowed and I vaguely noticed him fighting off a pensive expression. I suppose my spark was reacting to that but even my sensors feel numb along with my vocalizer and peds. "Have a pleasant shift, Jazz." I move past him and into my quarters. I nearly toppled into my berth and didn't move, uninterested in getting properly situated. I know what Ratchet said but I don't believe him. Happiness made things worse.

Frag the world.


	3. Jazz's POV: Meanwhile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz's POV for what's happened, what Prowl didn't know happened, and a little extra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied moment of Blaster x Jazz, but innocent minds can easily lie to themselves :)

There are certain mechs whose datawork I just absolutely hate. I rarely hate any mech on our side, and very few Neutrals, but that doesn't mean I can't hate what they do or write up. Red Alert is one of those mechs. Yeah, he pushes my patience and the occasional button, but otherwise he's fine mech. Paranoid to the point of an impending meltdown, but that's Inferno's issue to deal with, not mine. Outside of those times he's fine. Despite that I still loathe when his reports even come near my desk. It's like a chain coming to collar me to my desk. That's not my idea of a fun use with chains or collars. If I wanted to be subjected to that I'd have tried for Prowl's job, not Special Ops.

Hmm, Prowl. Now there's an infuriating mech who I'd be perfectly fine with a collar, and I'm not thinking about reports. Largely depends on my mood, though, because one-third of the time I want something more with him, another third I want to smother him with datapads on social behaviorisms, and the other third changes like an unthemed party's music. Really, it can go either way or a totally different direction. I've flirted with him, found my hand moving into position near his face while holding reports or rags, wanted to simply be friends, questioned if it's love, or wished to be free of him. Hence my summarization that he is infuriating. Anyone who can drive a mech back and forth from questioning if it's love in his spark to pondering if it's actually just a murderous desire, all within a joor, is infuriating at an absolute minimum.

Now that he's on my mind, along with desks, collars, chains, and neurotically-written reports I figure my thoughts on him are currently somewhere between friend and flirting. I'm leaning closer to flirting. Ah, what the Pit. At the very least I may find a way to ditch Red's five reports. After all, it's Prowl's fault there's five of them.

I grab my reports, walk the short distance between our offices, and give a quick single knock followed with a double-knock before letting myself in. That's my special knock so he can't complain I never announce myself. Two-kliks notice counts in my book as an announcement.

Prowl glances from his primary monitor and gives me an immediately weary glance. It's very subtle on him but I can see it in his optics and the momentary slight jaw clench. Despite being predictable in his routines and methodologies, he's inconsistent on his reactions so it could mean a few things. Asking him out right never works.

"Heya, Prowl," I nonchalantly greet. "Got some time?"

"No."

"Sure you do." I sit down on the opposite side of desk and nearly drop my reports on his desk. Instead I purposely set them down loudly and sprawled across the edge. "I noticed we've got some redundancies in our system, and I know how you love efficiency, so I thought I'd bring up the change to make the Autobot army's command-chain much more efficient."

"Really," he replies deadpan.

"Yup. Seems you and I got some duplicated reports from Red, and seeing how they aren't short reports, I was thinking how I'd work on the shipment reports while you work on Red's."

"You want to do shipment reports."

"It's much more efficient if I do it while you do Red's alerts."

"It couldn't be that you can move quickly through the reports and then claim they took as long as Red's reports, thereby pretending to account for your time? Nor could it be that there's something you snuck in an order and want to find out which crate likely contains it?"

I gasp, feigning hurt. "How can you accuse me of putting personal gains and falsified shift times above Autobot efficiency?"

"Easily. As 'fun' as this impromptu interruption is, I must protest. I have many reports, including those five. You need to do your part in analyzing Red Alert's reports. The sooner you start, the sooner it's over, as they say."

I cock my head sideways and stare at him for a moment at his unrelenting attitude. I thought that maybe he was teasing of falsifying my work and time in his dry, sneaky way. I move things around but I've never lied about it. Creatively worded my post-shift reports, sure, but no lies. Whenever Prowl gets to his "you need to do your part" speech he's being serious, though. I'll let it slide for the moment but if he does it again I'm telling him off. It's one thing to tease me about screwing off with the schedule; it's another to actually believe it. With him it's a very fine line between his humor and seriousness.

Maybe if I remind him that we're at least friends then he'll remember that I'm not a slacker. "I still call it a waste of resources. It would be like me going straight to a concert at the end of my scheduled shift without stopping by and checking on you. I know you'll work yourself until you're a wasted resource, AKA a mech in stasis-lock until Ratchet gets involved, so I use some of my time to stop that. I get you energon or pull you away from work when you're clearly one illogical comment away from crashing."

I can see Prowl's left hand's fingers slightly clenching in time with his doorwings, resulting in a slow, short twitch, too short to be a flutter. Reading him takes dedication because that's most he gives away, these little signs that easily disappear with his shifting attention. That combo usually means guilt. He better feel guilty for being an aft. Doesn't mean I have to let him stay feeling guilty, and I won't since that's not what flirty friends do.

I grin and tip my chin down, giving him a charming smile. "Since I know you need help, why don't I bring you energon mid-shift once a shift for the next five orns? That way we'll spend more than just a few breems chatting." I can get at least two things I want from this: freedom from Red's reports and carving out a set time for us. It's not easy getting him to set aside regular communication time for non-work related plans.

His fingers stop twitching and soon so does his doorwings. This is starting to go my way. Prowl glances at my reports and then to a small pile of five off to his side, presumably the same five. He calmly states, "No."

I nearly growl my frustration but I wouldn't be Special Ops if I can't keep my emotions at bay over setbacks and sexy mechs being stupidly and misleadingly difficult. I try a new line of reasoning, although I don't like it because the wrong tone and it comes across as whining. "Come on, man. You're doing the exact same work on the exact same five reports. It won't slow you down and you're getting something out of it."

He and I lightly argue over the point in us both reading the reports, Red's general wellbeing, me doubling my offer, and Prime's plan for rotational exposure to Earth before Prowl returns to declining my proposed trade. "I can get my own energon, thank you very much."

"Yeah, that's what you think, and that's what everyone _would_ think of a fully-grown and serious officer. I'm offering you ten shifts' worth of energon being brought to you by me during those shifts. I'll even toss in a freebee and give you double-dose of Jazz time. No charge or 'thank you's necessary," I reply with a sassy grin, my amusement having returned from me rebuffing his unyieldingness with my cheeky obstinacy.

"So you're planning on me doing all the work of meticulously reading and analyzing Red Alert's reports on his half deca-orn assignment in exchange for energon catering and your smile?"

"And laughter. And other stuff, too." His subtly-suspicious expression doesn't change, as if he couldn't imagine anything else with me but energon and a smile. "Ya'know I'm good for more stuff than just a smile? Jazz-man is more than just a pretty face." I try keeping up the smile but a part of me doesn't want to maintain the effort; a part of me wants to seriously question him. For a moment that part of me causes my smile to falter but I resume smiling to cover the slip.

"Indeed, there's a very skilled saboteur underneath it. I'm fully aware I'd be thorough anyhow regardless of the outcome of your trade, and that it doesn't impact me if you use my analysis to fake your own. It does impact the example we set as officers."

A retort comes to mind about the example he's setting as an officer, where so many call him a drone behind his back (usually) because of his said example. I don't like it when they call him a drone, seeing him only as an emotionless tool for Autobot leadership. Still, when Prowl talks to a mech as if he _is_ his role or position as opposed to it being a part of him, it does raise some troubling questions about why he can't see beyond the job. Not just his but everyone else's.

I realize I'm staring at him. Perhaps if I give up my attempts to get rid of Red's reports he'll agree to spend more time together. It troubles me how he often can't see me beyond the job. "How about if I do my reports and bring you energon for the ten shifts, same time at your desk? That should satisfy your reservations and maybe we can understand each other better than a tactician and a saboteur."

He raises his optic ridge at me, something he always does in place of almost every other controllable facial expression. "Don't we already?"

I barely keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm talking about a friendly break and you keep talking about logic and our work. You're talking about me but not me Jazz, me the saboteur. Somehow we're never talking about the same thing unless it's strictly about tactical or office stuff." Halfway through I started failing again at keeping my frown away. I notice that his doorwings start flickering as I finish, but this time they move down instead of back. It's also slightly faster, becoming a subtle downward flutter of the tips. Usually when I see that it means he's distressed about social situations, but I've never been able to get him to admit it. He tells me he doesn't feel distress and only acknowledges the shortcomings that happen for an unsocial mech working with others.

Prowl didn't reply for a half breem. "Jazz, I am sorry if you feel unappreciated. I will do the work - so long as you tell no one - and we can share energon for ten shifts. If you want, I'll even try for fifteen."

My frown returns to being a smile and I relax back into the chair."Great! I'll see you in six joors. I'm planning on holding you to your promised fifteen starting now. Your scheduled shift isn't quite half over, and we know that means you won't actually leave until your shift is over and the next shift is well 'n' good in their duties. That's at least ten more joors. If it were up to me, in six joor I'd be taking you to dinner."

"I'm glad you're happy but you need to stop describing Autobots and Cybertronian behaviorisms with human activities. We do not have dinners."

"Maybe we should because then we could have dinner dates." I tease him with my efforts of getting him to spend some time outside of work. Almost every time it's met with his "scared bunny" look, as I call it. It's a small facial expression seized with alarm while the tension runs through his body. It's invisible to most, maybe even him. I'm trying to get him to push through it even if it means me proverbially pushing him by his back so he can't keep the brakes constantly engaged.

"I can't imagine what things would look like around here if we had dinners, but I imagine Sideswipe would find some way to make it prank."

Well I tried. His job and his own extensions of his role are his excuse to keep away from everything that he doesn't enjoy. I don't feel like pushing again because I got what I need for now. "I understand, my man. Don't you go scheduling any meetings six joors from now!"

"I promise," he replies and I leave feeling free of Red's reports and optimistic.

|/\/\/\|

Everything was going swimmingly for the next seven breaks we shared, occasionally broken up across ten shifts. I figured I tried branching out beyond breaks. I do enjoy my downtime and I know Prowl's idea of downtime is reading and playing chest. Essentially his fun is all indoor activities. A mech's gotta move or else he'll rust hunched over, that's what I say. It took me a while but I found an outdoor concert with a shaded hill that's further than humans would sit but within acceptable distance for our optics and audios. The distance and cover will allow for privacy. It's a mellower concert so Prowl can't complain about noise or hustling. It's sitting but outdoors, so it's not _too_ far out of his norm for sitting inside. I'm actually quite proud of myself for finding the low-key concert. While it's not within acceptable driving distance we can still easily get there with Skyfire's help.

It's our eighth shared break in his office and we're talking about Rec Room activities. I'm trying to direct the conversation to my plans. It's going slow because he keeps trying to pull the conversation towards trends he's noticed about those going on shift after visiting the Rec Room and how much rowdier some are during that shift.

I push harder, "Well, we can always try some tamer music during shift changes so those about to go on-shift will leave calmer. Subliminal behavior control, right?"

"It may be worth a try. What kind of music did you have in mind?"

"Low-key orchestral? If you want an idea what I mean, I know of a concert that'll give you the idea. What do you think about attending a concert?"

"Me going to a concert? I think the unanimous conclusion is that me and concerts is a dastardly idea, and for once I'm inclined to agree." He offers a small half-smile in combination to the raised optic ridge, something he does when he's trying to make light of social interactions or the masses' opinion of him.

"Excuse me? You think it's reprehensible to go to a concert? That's like half my downtime."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he replies dryly. "How can I justify spending my time at a concert? Would this be a work scouting trip? It seems unfair to my cohorts that I set aside my reports for something not in my field."

"What about going with this cohort here," I use my thumb to point back at me, "and we do it on our downtime? Then you can't bother anyone else nor can the other officers and tactical support make any complaints."

"A concert on my downtime? Are you trying to break me and put me in Medbay? You know the pranksters would love to know I'm out all evening and then longer if it results in Medbay time."

"Hilarious. Seriously, low-key concert with me about half a deca-orn from now?"

"I will consider it and let you know before our next shift." His response, combined with thinly pressed lips and glancing at his shift clock (that Prime blessed my request as a unsubtle reminder for breaks and shift ends) all tell me he's putting it off. It always means that he's reluctant to say the truth, usually resulting in a stalled "no."

"Sure, whatever. I gotta go." I excuse myself, suddenly tired of his never-ending charade.

I leave with my empty cube and discard it in the Rec Room. I see Bumblebee and Mirage and talk vague details about our upcoming mission planning. I don't like talking real details in open areas and they know it. Hound arrives and loudly tells the room about the sunny skies and wrong weather reports.

I like the sun and I could use some alone time. It's not that my quarters don't allow for alone time per say, but mechs often come by and want to do stuff. They know I'm easily bored but they can't tell the difference between me being bored in my quarters and me needing space.

I excuse myself and go for a drive to a grassy patch with some pine trees. It's a nice place to lounge because it offers coverage, which ended up beneficial when it turned out the weather reports only had the time wrong. Rains don't bother me but driving in the results of its transformation upon ground impact does. In the areas surrounding the _Ark_ that usually means mud. Anyway the extra alone time is helping me reevaluate some things. Even now I've gotten a few pings asking me what's up but luckily my distance and the unfriendly terrain helps me remain otherwise alone.

I dozed off briefly from the tranquil sounds of rain pattering on the pines and birds chirping away under the protected areas. Red's comm. brought me back online. He's concerned that my little dot on his screen hasn't moved in a while. I tell him I'm listening to music and when he gives me the third degree about my location, lack of movement, and it not aligning with what I usually do for fun, I turning on some upbeat music over the comm. After he grumbling acknowledges that I'm probably not under attack and being held hostage if I can be that upbeat he turns off his comm. I keep listening to my music but I switch to songs with angrier lyrics with strong beats, drowning myself in it now that the rains and birds are gone.

It didn't really cross my processor about how much I allowed myself to be absorbed into the music until someone pushed my shoulder. "Ah! What the frag?!" I sputter and snap into place for a coiled charge at my attacker. Before I launch I recognize a slightly dirty Prowl. "Damn it, Prowl!"

"It's not my fault you failed being an Autobot today."

'Ah ha, very funny,' I reply internally. I was hoping to not see him before he pretends to have considered my offer before turning it down. His false considerations always irritate me and now I'm almost there again. I shift away from him and forcefully relax my shoulders.

He asks, "Do I smell?"

"Huh? No..." Well, actually now that I think about it…

"I'm covered in bits of Earth's nature and you moved away from me."

We end up staring at each other for a whole breem, me waiting for him to get it over with and tell me he's not going. Instead he just raises his optic ridge, which only adds to my soured mood.

"Prowl, how can you look at me like that?"

"Isn't this how I normally look when I'm not working?"

I huff my x-vents, imitating put out humans and their lung noises. They have more ways of communicating without words. Sometimes I'm jealous. I lean further away from him against a different tree before muttering, "I can't believe you."

After an awkward moment of silence he tries responding. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings." I know he's attempting to make amends but I also know he's doing it without knowing what he's offended.

I'm calling him on it. I've let so many things slide because I'm thinking of the bigger picture, the bigger questions. Do I like him, or how do I like him? Does he like me? To what level does that prospect hold my spark in its hand? "You can't be sorry if you don't know what you did. I know that doorwing twitch; you haven't the foggiest idea what I'm talking about."

"Please explain it to me."

"Why?" Now I'm completely back at irritated. I push air back out my x-vent, simulating an irritated exhale while sinking down on the tree to feign disinterest. "You aren't honest with me, Prowl."

"I haven't lied to you."

I could argue that he has but that's one finer point out of one main issue. "You're hiding things."

"Like what?"

"Like how I asked you what you thought about going to a concert," I gripe.

"And I replied with 'dastardly.'"

I let my bitterness creep into my voice to add to my point. "Yeah, and then I asked you how you felt about going to a concert with me."

"And I tried using humor to elaborate on how I feel about concerts."

"Whenever I try getting you involved in something not work related you excuse yourself by hiding behind our pranksters and this notion you gotta deal with them all by yourself." I'm going to keep calling him on his slag. I don't care anymore about softening my words for his feelings and reservations. If eight shared breaks that lasted significantly longer than our normal post-shift conversations didn't break past those habits, and my efforts after several vorns haven't had any real impact, then why am I trying?

"I'm sorry Jazz. I'm not comfortable with loud noises. Doorwing sensors are quite the pain."

"That's why it's a small concert with much softer orchestral sounds. In fact, I think several of the last activities I tried getting you join me where along the same lines!" I snap back into a sitting position and burn his optics with a pointed stare, leaning into it. Give me something, Prowl. Please, I'm getting… tired. Fed up. Exasperated as a friend. At times at a loss in a way that pulls at my spark as if its energy is drained into an abyss.

His doorwings shiver but his words offer less. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want your 'sorry', I want your honesty. I've been trying this for so long. Too long. Pit, how many times do I have to talk about dates, events, or outings just to get a straight, honest answer from you? I just want to know how you feel about me." I'm not even certain how I feel about him and since with my feelings changing with his behavior, but I can't settle on anything until I know what he's thinking and feeling. I hope it's at least close friends, but I want to see if there's more without risking said friendship. There's plenty of safe ways to do that without alienating Prowl if it doesn't work out like that.

He moves slowly against the tree I was leaning against earlier and tilts his head back so he only sees me from the side, rather than straight on. He's moving slowly as if dragging it out. "Jazz, you are a good mech. A friendly shoulder. A fine work companion. An excellent Autobot. You and I can never been anything more than that."

My vision instantly narrowed to his stoic face, my audios hearing only his flat voice, and all hope/pleas turned bitter. Frag you, tactical gearhead. Frag you! I have my answer and if "friendly" is all I get, not "friend" but a mere adjective, then I'm done trying. He has no idea how hard it is for me to compromise my self-preservation and keep pursuing things on his terms, and clearly he isn't interested in acknowledging it. I can feel my rage building a shake along my body and I fight it off by jumping up and immediately transforming after three steps. It's hard to shake as a vehicle and I'm not going to give into yelling at Prowl. The results will only bring me to a boiling fury.

I take off and make it back to the _Ark_ in record time for muddy grounds. Three quarters into the drive I decided that there's only one thing I want right now: I want to feel wanted and I want it on my terms. I rush through the entrance washracks before finding Blaster in the Rec Room and I comm. him. ::I'm invoking our friendship 'benefits' package. Now.::

He gives me a funny look but excuses himself from the movie time with the lot of social mechs off of the primary shift. ::My quarters or - ::

::Mine.::

 

|/\/\/\|

 

A couple of deca-orns and a battle later, a fight that left a few Autobots (including Aft Head) in Medbay, Ironhide and I sat in Prime's office to divide Aft Head's work since. I didn't see Jerk after the battle but Ratchet informed Prime and us remaining officers that it wouldn't be a quick fix. Finally we received a promise from Ratchet that Prime's tactician will be online before the next officer shift so we were breaking down what we three and the anxious Red standing in the corner could do. The rest would be left to the tactician because his efficiency made it a waste if we tried.

Ironhide grew tired of Red first. "Here you go, Red." He handed Red a small stack. The security officer muttered about being out of his security office too long and promptly left. I can see Prime's point that Slagger mentioned a few deca-orns ago.

Prime pointed out, "With him gone our 'for Prowl' pile won't get smaller."

I retaliate with playfulness that belies my feelings of discussions revolving Jerk's workload, "And yet you make this point after he leaves."

Prime chuckles while Ironhide sniggers. Prime acknowledges, "I suppose sometimes it is easier to give it to Prowl rather than some of our livelier or colorful mechs. We should stop that."

"Why?" I huff. "He's loves it." I failed at keeping _all_ of the anger from being totally out of my voice.

They both fall silent and I felt their disease. I grimaced for putting them in that position. "Prime, you got something we can use to toss Prowl's in?"

"Yes behind that cabinet," he gestured to the big one in back. I walk over and find a metal box folded behind the cabinet. I can't reach it with my normal-sized hands. "Ironhide, can you help?" I'd rather ask for help from someone closer to my size than tell Prime I can't do it and need him to fetch a box. Prime gets it that we smaller mechs sometimes get annoyed with being treated like younglings due to the size differences, just like minibots and 'bots my size.

Ironhide approaches and I ask him to push slightly. I almost had it when Ratchet storms in and starts cursing. We can't see him but we're silently laughing at his booming foul language. Someone's got Ratchet good and pissed.

His anger becomes coherent as soon as the door closes. "Fragging tactician! I swear I despise him right now more than Sideswipe. Normally that takes time and effort but your long-time CPU damaged tactician managed to pull it off without the effort part."

"What?" Prime questions with us both echoing as we jump out from behind the cabinet.

We startle Ratchet and he balks before continuing. "Where the Pit were you two hiding and why? Never mind, get out."

"No," I snap. Ironhide seconds my refusal and Prime points out that Ratchet might as well finish.

"Fine but this doesn't get mentioned outside of a controlled environment. You understand? Good. Prowl's processor is repaired from the Decepticon damage but I noticed a dead area that wasn't healing. I investigated it and best I can tell it's been damaged for a long time."

Prime asked, "How was that missed?"

"I don't scan a mech's processor unless necessary and I wouldn't have caught it now if I didn't have to do a wide scan for nanite damage. It's not a large area."

"So what is it and can you find out how long it's been?"

Ratchet grumbled, his irritation growing by the sentence. "I don't know to either of those. Prowl's battle computer make everything complicated but then his CPU has some patches of weird wiring. Way back when after his first crash on me I challenged him on it. He said it was related to the battle computer and a _minor_ youngling-hood accident that caused a small glitch.

"I could bet you creds now I know how revisiting that conversation is going to go," Ratchet managed to both draw and growl. "He'll defend himself by claiming something he said was more implication than false claims, and therefore not a true lie but another's interpretations of ambiguities." His growling was almost immediately followed with a snarl, "After he says that then he'll see just how much wrath I have. You all think you know but that's because fragheads like Sideswipe find ways to acutely damage themselves with stupidity. None of you have seen how I feel about hiding chronic problems." My optics shuttered for a moment, never having heard the medic prone to ranting and yelling actually _snarl_ his threats.

Prime made a weird strangled sound with his vocalizer. "Ratchet, back to what's wrong now, not back then…?"

Ratchet huffed, "Basically the area is dead and I tried tracing it but the pathways are more abnormal than even I realized."

"Is it safe to wake him?"

Ratchet growled. "Yes but we're not entirely done fixing him. His processor is otherwise fine and his structural damage is on the mend. Waking him will turn back on his self-repairs and we were working to bypass most of that."

"It would still be best to ask him directly and then you may put him back under and return to his repairs."

Ratchet lead the way while my own processor was still reeling from the news. Jerk - I mean, Prowl, had existing sustained processor damage? How long? How bad? Why didn't he ever say something? Sure, it's probably not going to come up during light conversation but we've had more serious, non-work conversations. Just something; it didn't even need to be in a moment of public-induced depression with a bitter retort along the lines of, "hey Jazz, I really am partly dead inside, just like those others say."

My energon pump seized up as soon as the thought finished. Was he afraid of me treating him with that mindset? I've defended him to others and reminded him countless times about misperceptions. It can't be that… I hope.

Scenarios kept playing out in my head, memories grasping for clues, even when we arrived and Ratchet shooed out unnecessary mechs. By the time he got to Prowl he seemed uncertain. I suspect he's uncertain at his approach. This isn't Ratchet's forte and he's rather proud of that. Too bad there's no one else right now that knows physiology and psychology of a damaged processor.

Prowl looks strung up like a trapped and wounded animal, with his doorwings wrapped up with bandages and an uneven amount of support rods pressed into the doorwings. The right one has more. His right arm has a monitor attached to it, showing a series of dots making up waves.

Memories kept playing in my head, highlighted by odd moments I knew he was hiding something. I always assumed it was because he was private beyond nearly all reason. Ratchet's revelation started recoloring those memories in negative and chilled tones. Like did he end our last conversation so abruptly and coldly because he was afraid of me finding out and hurting him if he allowed it to go any further? The thought weakened the last strength reserves in my leg struts and I quickly sat down in a chair.

Prowl stirs slightly, powering on his optics last, before stopping suddenly. Ratchet starts informing him about his restricted movement but he doesn't get far before Prowl icily cuts him off. "Ratchet, what did you do?"

"A lot."

"I imagine you can do a lot considering how long my chronometer says I've been at your discretion."

Prime stops Prowl and redirects everyone's attention to Ratchet. Prowl slowly moves his optics toward Ratchet but his gaze lingers momentarily on me. Ratchet explains the situation, starting at Prowl's state when found back at the battle. Prowl's quiet until Ratchet mentions his glitch.

"I'm aware," he murmurs.

That's all the warning any of us get before Ratchet's anger bursts from being held back this long. "How the Pit was it missed that you have permanent shorts in your processor?! Then there are two wires completely dead but they're acting like a bridge so the shorts sometimes connect. I tried getting to them so I could figure out what happened, what part of your uniquely-screwed-up processor that is, and if it's fixable. It's too complicated and I can't safely get to it. Yet. So before I knock you back out and trace it through an extremely labor-intensive method to find what it's supposed to be doing and go from there, I'm giving you this one chance to tell me how you hid this, why you hid it, and what it's supposed to be doing? Oh, and by the way, the totally illegal neuro-net adapter you have for your spark-based sensors. Which were completely turned off!"

I missed Prowl's immediate reaction because my attention was abruptly owned completely by Ratchet after he mentioned spark sensors. Same with Prime and Ironhide. He hadn't mentioned that earlier. Before any of us can ask him about it a beeping sounds emits from Prowl's arm-mounted monitor. Ratchet chews Prowl out until Prime redirects the conversation once more. "Prowl, Ratchet informed me that you've never had a processor injury since he's known you that explains the described damage. Our only conclusion is that you've been hiding this for a while."

"Obviously," was Prowl's only reply, his tone almost flat with only the hint of his dry humor. My hands clench involuntarily and my faceplates burn momentarily from the anger of his flippant attitude about something so serious. I banish the anger from my processor and frame; it's not conducive, just like Prowl's attitude. Ironhide isn't so quick to squash his anger and snaps at Prowl. "How can you be so calm about this, about lying to us? You worked with all of us and never thought to mention about you giving orders with a misfiring processor?" I nearly flinch at his tones and accusations. If I'm right then he's only proving Prowl's reasoning for hiding his problem.

Prowl immediately replies. "That's exactly why I can stay calm, and it's also why I can give orders without the problems you go through when commanding or reprimanding mechs you know. It's no secret that most see me as an emotionless drone." Prowl looks straight at me as he says, "The truth?" I swear a knot formed in my energon tank as he said that because I knew he was answering my questions he avoided when we last talked. His optics locked onto mine only a moment and I knew instantly I wouldn't like the answer. His optics returned to the officer's group at large. "Those damaged wires are part of my emotional sub-routines. I'm not emotionless; I just normally can't feel them. I know they're there and sometimes I can forcefully get one or two of them across - I suppose the bridge has something to do with that - but I usually don't understand them anyways."

Primus… the knot is threatening to purge my energon tank from the sweeping pain of his damning revelation. All those memories playing inside my head since Prime's office until Prowl woke up? They're even less accurate now. Images, sounds, touches, and my thoughts/feelings in each memory is the same, but everything else? How many memories are partly inaccurate, let alone how many are wholly wrong? Am I wrong now in my reflections?

There's possibly no way of knowing, even if I ask Prowl. He probably doesn't even know. All those times I tried getting him to reach me halfway, not knowing the real reason why they all failed – damn it, energon please settle. Now is not the time to react but I feel sick. It's getting harder as Prowl continues explaining the real injury, how it wasn't captured in the medical reports, his struggles with adapting to it without the support save _one_ friend, and what said friend tried doing to help him. Where was Smokey and Blue's family? I know they are cousins and Prowl was orphaned when young, but I thought family was still in the picture.

By the time Prowl finishes I failed twice at hiding my reaction but I barely managed to cover my ills with hitched intakes akin to coughs. Hopefully no one noticed. Prowl hasn't looked at me once and it's probably the only thing I'm relieved about right now.

Finally after Prowl finishes and we all awkwardly remain silent, Ratchet speaks with a gruff but low voice. "I'm taking you completely off of duty until we resolve this to Prime's satisfactory."

Prowl refuses. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Ratchet. This is a pre-existing, pre-Autobot, problem that made me the Autobot I am, capable of formalizing and executing plans knowing what they may cause. I do my very best to keep everyone alive and functional but I'm not crippled by the fear. It lets me act precisely and accurately even in dire and gruesome situations. Who else can do that? Besides that, what'll happen if word gets out that I'm being held on medical leave for something I had before joining the Autobots?" Before anyone can coherently recover Prowl slides off the berth. "Unless something here changes, I'm going back to my quarters to recharge. I will resume my duties when I wake until either Prime or Primus stops me."

Prowl rapidly disappears and Ratchet starts sputtering and becoming very animated again, but I can't hear him. All I hear is Prowl's words pieced together and repeatedly playing in my head: "The truth? This is a pre-Autobot problem that made me the Autobot I am. I'm not emotionless; I just normally can't feel them. I know they're but I usually don't understand them anyways."

Everything is so slagged.

 

|/\/\/\|

 

I'm back in my quarters after nearly two-and-a-half joors of arguing, worrying, and medical jargon. Ratchet was back to being his usual self, given the situation. For most of it I didn't participate but simply listened. Occasionally I spoke up on behalf of the absent subject, speaking faster than I could debate whether I should make my points. Usually said points were about how treating Prowl like a cross between a drone and a freak wouldn't help anyone, especially the tactician. Defending him was odd because it was just like old times as if what'd transpired the last two deca-joors was deleted and erased. Prime finally called an end to the meeting and I more-or-less stormed out of there to my quarters. Pretty sure I baffled them that I was the one jumping to Prowl's defense but I've been at a loss of what to think as I seemingly fall back on old habits.

I don't know what to do, think, feel, or act. What does one do when the object of their emotional troubles and yearnings is literally incapable of understanding or reciprocating? Thinking about those times he caused me troubles, from the frustration on his lack of social behaviorism to what I considered the end of my romantic efforts, is it fair to hold any of it against him? If not, then how is it fair to me? It hurt when Prowl flat out rejected the notion of us being anything more. I was so angry with him because I was sure he knew what he was doing. Did he? It doesn't take emotions to say the words he so deliberately chose. Yet does it count if he can't feel the impact of the words? If it doesn't then am I somehow at fault for taking them as I did? It's not like I knew his 'truth' in the matter.

Who's at fault? If no one then does that mean we're both right or are we're both wrong? Or were we both just wronged? Was Prowl wronged from the moment of that accident and was I wronged the moment I seriously questioned the real reason behind my draw to him?

Wait a klik, are my cheeks wet? I touch the area below my optics and discover they're both wet. I'm so wrapped up in my head I barely noticed my pace and definitely didn't notice the tears. I fight back the unrealized physical reaction. Is this what it's like for Prowl? I've seen physical markers of emotions and he says he knows they're there but he can't grasp the final piece.

Maybe… maybe I just need to talk to him. He knows I know at least some of it, so perhaps if he understands that I'm not shutting him out or judging him then he'll give me the answers I need. Perhaps both of us need those answers for what it means for us, my questions about what happened to him and presumably his questions of what happens with me now.

It takes me a little while to work up the courage to actually go to his quarters after my face and optics dried. It even took a while to even ring his door chime and the nagging voice in the back of my processor got louder as nearly a whole breem past before Prowl's door opened.

He doesn't answer the door normally by instead using the doorframe to support his crooked weight. It seems Ratchet's choice words about unequal weight distribution from the doorwings were very accurate. As Ratchet pointed out in his usual manner of callous love that he wasn't planning on the issue existing during his original repair schedule but he's content letting Prowl suffer the atypical issue.

"Jazz?"

Uneasily I ask, "Can I come in?" My question is met with a grunt and the sound coming from the usually-stoic mech surprises me.

"It's not you," he quickly assures. "It's my spark. I'm not used to having _all_ sensors on." He leans backward letting me in. I walk in until I'm at his chairs for one-on-one discussions, deliberately not commenting on what he said.

When I look back at him I notice his awkward walk, peds unsteadily in front of the other while using his hands as guides. "You left before Ratchet could explain about your doorwings and the remaining medications in your systems. He cursed a few details he didn't get to explain when you were there."

"I'm amazed that I managed to leave without him chasing me down, or that he isn't here now."

I try quietly laughing but it's a lame one even for a fake. "I think you're the first mech to tell him 'no' and then discharge yourself from his medical care. If it weren't for the unusual situation then you'd probably have only made it ten steps before being dragged back by the doorwings. Prime asked if Ratchet wanted you hauled down to Medbay and Ratchet's response was a long-winded way of saying, 'let that slagger suffer the consequences of stepping out.'"

"I'm not certain if that means I can relax or should add new safety buffers between me and him. By 'unusual situation', do you mean me?"

Pit, I was trying not to go there and I'm already precariously close to the edge of implying a rejection of him by us. Carefully I recap the unplanned meeting details while tread around what he'd be unlikely to learn without explicit communication. Prowl responds quietly before walking to his chair – well, more like trying to walk to his chair without assistance. It's more like a duck and the image of a Praxian duck immediately pops into my mind, further solidified when Prowl dropped into the chair like a diving bird. I tried not laughing but that last part undid all attempts and the laughter bursts out. "Sorry," I chuckle before sitting down in the nearby chair, pleasantly surprised by his small smile.

After I settle he politely asks, "How are you?"

"Pretty well. Been hanging out with friends and going out to events. Everyone's been cheery. I think – " belatedly I cut myself off as soon as my thoughts flowed into our other unresolved issues stuck on my mind.

"You can say it. You aren't going to hurt my feelings."

"It sounds dumb."

"You rarely say dumb things."

"That's sweet of you," I playfully scoff. Rather than give him total honesty I carefully reword it so it's less likely to put him on the spot. "I wasn't planning on saying anything but evidently the unplanned just tried slipping out. So... so, thanks you for not making what happened between us a problem on the _Ark_. I realize you took all the blame without making it a problem for anyone else."

The last part suddenly altered several of my own thoughts, now revisiting the memories for the second or third time since Ratchet's outburst. "It's selfish of me, I know, but it was less hard on me since it was also less hard on everyone else." Perhaps where he's been negligent I've been selfish. Maybe his silent support of my needs at the time is his unvoiced evidence of willingness for me.

He replies, "I'm glad I didn't cost you any extra pain." His words undoubtedly were unaware of my thoughts kliks before he replied but the implications are worthwhile of investing myself again and try meeting him where he needs it, just like I recently needed a lack of dramatic defensiveness and hot tempers. Heat flushes my systems at the revelation of a possible new future. Perhaps too slowly I ask, "How are you?"

"I am as I expected to be."

Seriously? What the Pit am I supposed to do with that? "Don't be cryptic."

"I am not trying to be cryptic. I just don't know how to accurately answer that question. Jazz, you asked me to be honest with you. This is honestly the best I can do for the moment." The heat in my system suddenly drops and my engine pauses with his words' meanings. Evidently I gave something away because he quickly adds, "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be depressing or secretive. It just takes a lot out of me to try finding those types of answers. I'm not up to the challenge right now."

Automatically my optics moves to his left doorwing. There's a slight tremble in it but I realize now it may be futile or even wrong to apply what I thought that meant. Rather, should I just ask him outright and let him tell me what he can and accept it as whatever he's able to grasp? "Are you hurting?"

"I need to ask - probably more like plead with - Ratchet to let me turn off at least half of the spark sensors. Preferably all but two. I used to only operate with two."

"Do they hurt?" I ask, thinking about some of Ratchet's words. I wanted to comment about him not catching a break since Ravage's attack, if not long, _long_ before then.

Prowl replies about it being to some extent and I cautiously bring up Ratchet's point about Prowl's spark undergoing a disturbing amount of stress. I leave out the words "disturbing amount." Understanding every detail isn't going to help him at the moment. I don't even understand it. I'm not sure how a spark can be strained as if there's permanent damage but frankly I was too afraid to ask.

Almost three breems later about nonsensical comments I notice small flickers in his doorwings indicating pain again but I drop it just in case I'm wrong. Another two breems later and I see pain fleetingly touch his face. "You're grimacing," I calmly point out.

"I need to recharge but I expect it'll take longer than normal. I'm debating on how to address that."

"You need to recharge now?" Wasn't he recharging when I rang his door chime? I thought that he was after he belatedly answered the door without confrontation, nor did he have the shine of fresh use of the washrack.

"Yes. It will take some time." He gestures to his chest. "Extra sensors drag out powering down."

I can feel tingling in my hands and corners of my mouth, threatening a hopeful smile. In a way that admission was more vulnerable than anything I can recall him voluntarily said.

He starts asking me to leave. "I don't mean to be rude, but if you please," he ends with a tilt of his head towards the door.

Well, I suppose I should be happy I got somewhere. Yet I'm not because I was hopeful only a klik ago. "Yeah, sure," I mumble distractedly, torn on respecting his wishes in his own quarters or persistently keeping our positive (if slow) momentum.

Is it fair to leave him in pain because he's been closed off for so long, along with his run of bad luck? My question gives me the answer rather than needing to be answered. I kneel by the monitor on his right arm, my body rigid being so close to him. Tentatively I touch a side of the monitor after determining how it was relaying information. "I can disrupt it so you can power off those sensors without it telling Ratchet. This monitor detects changes in your sensors, not their individual state."

"You'll help me?" Those words seem sadder to me despite the lack of vulnerability in his voice. Did he feel it and just not know it? How exactly does his adapter-thingy compensate?

"If you can't recharge, then yeah. I'll take care of your shift issue as well. I only have one stipulation."

"Yes?"

"I stay here until it's time for you to leave, and then I turn them back on. Ratchet seriously went off about the state of your spark. He's worried about a stress-induced spark-attack." I didn't want to tell him until after he adjusted but it's not something I can pretend doesn't exist as a risk. I've never witness or knew someone who witnessed a spark-attack but I've _heard_ it's extremely painful and a near-certain permanent deactivation. Ratchet's already preparing for it just in case.

Luckily he doesn't resist my demand. "I accept your terms."

"Good." I help him turn off the sensors and then I assist him into his berth. While he settles I use his scheduling-interface datapad to modify the master schedule. To be on the safe side I modify both of our schedules. I flag it as "post-recovery excess expenditures" for him and "sanity" for me. Prime knows what I mean. He's literally accepted a justification of "because" from me. Then again, I know his tells so if I see him before making the changes I know what I can get away with. Hence me gambling with reprimand over submitting a "because," whereas Prowl's rare slides involve half a page of justifications. It totally worked, too. Those of us who figured his tells out have agreed to keep silent for anything a Decepticon wouldn't pick up.

After I command the room turn off all lights and he's comfortable on his side he asks, "What did you list as justification? When do I need to report in?"

"Never mind that. I'll let you know when it's time." I don't answer him in case I want to rewrite it as a full shift sick leave for him and "morale leave" for me. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes," he answers as his optics start fading.

"Good." While working on the schedule I was thinking about where I'd recharge but I couldn't see myself actually recharging if I can't somehow monitor him in place of what I turned off. Almost silently increasing my intake to keep my systems cool, I slide into his berth and mirror his position, except I put my audios against his chest where his spark rests behind his armor.

His optics fully power on. "What are you doing?" He moves around slightly as he questions me.

"Listening to your spark." Using my fingers as hooks around the seams of his chest armor, I lock both of us in place so he can't freely pull away. "I don't want to risk you having a quiet spark-attack during recharge."

After pointing out his thoughts about my concerns I reluctantly settled down in place. Without the foam I use back in my quarters I'm going to have to recharge in this position. I know it'll slightly hurt all shift after a full recharge thanks to some damage I still have. Ratchet gripes about it being an unnecessary pain but I think removing any one of my safety pockets is being unnecessarily naked. It's a pain I normally control and I can handle that just fine. It's the lack of safety fallbacks I can't stand.

Unexpectedly, Prowl slowly reaches across me until his hand rests on my waist and instantly freezes everything in my chest in a warring combination of fear and hope. I keep the frigid sense centralized to my chest, forcing my midsection to rest and allow whatever he does to do so without resistance. He pulls my waist, rotating it so I can rest straighter with his hand support my back. He slides his top leg between mine and uses his bottom leg to push against my bottom leg so I won't rotate forward during recharge.

The position takes out all the stress on my hip struts. Without the stress in my hip struts and the unexpected kindness being shown by someone so closed off only five joors ago (when discounting his medical time), the cold fear ebbs away, taking my body's tension with it. The hope in my chest grows, melting me with it, my helm and hands moving more into him.

He asks almost too loudly, "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes," I answer almost inaudibly.

"If it hurts or becomes uncomfortable, please let me -"

"Sssh," I quietly interrupt, bringing down the noise. "I can't hear your spark if you talk." I can barely hear the sound of his spark's energy now.

He powers down most of the systems dampening the noise. I can hear the energy more clearly. "Then this should help reduce noise interference. Good night, Jazz."

"Good night, Prowler."

 

|\/\/\/|

 

I onlined first, which wasn't particularly odd since I wasn't recovering from a damaged frame. How damaged is his frame anyways? I carefully looked at his closest doorwing but I couldn't get a clear view without moving. I can see some discoloration but everything else is covered by the bandages.

Did he have any other damage? I slowly look him over but I didn't see anything except a tiny, raised line barely visible on his white thigh. Just looking at his leg from this angle is causing the temperature in my systems to quickly rise a degree, but the sudden warm and associated images are subdued when I notice the length. I reach out and very slightly trace it by feel. Yet again my systems start heating back up as if I haven't had fun in deca-orns, so I entirely focus on my perplexity by what my fingers find. The line became a scar and, although slight by sight, by touch I knew it ran up to his black hip armor. I tried tracing it some more but I realized there was even more scar lines. With some concentration I could barely see a few but I felt more than that.

I heard Prowl very quietly online but I didn't think about stopping and addressing him, too consumed with mapping out what I could only be found by touch. He slid his head close to mine and I pause before deciding to continue on. He can stop me if he wants. When I find one near his mid-torso that's _barely_ visible, looking and feeling almost like a knot, I ask, "Where did you get this?"

Prowl explains it's from Starscream but it doesn't bother him, yet he starts pulling away. I'm not letting him so I tighten my other hand's grip and clamp my legs around his. "How many do you have?"

"I don't know. I know a couple are from when I lost my friend that gave me my spark adapter. Most are from losing Praxus and efforts to find survivors. It didn't seem right to spend time in a medical tent instead of searching for survivors, and it was a long time before there were supplies for anyone who wasn't a survivor. By then I accepted it." He explained it simply, as if the memories were unencumbered. While disturbing, I suspect me saying something will undo my (our?) latest efforts so I refrain. Instead I ask him about recent repair chances but he ends up lightly chiding me about it being between him and Ratchet.

Finally I can't help but ask a piece of that one burning question. "It doesn't upset you?"

He pulls my chin up to see his face, stopping me from tracing his scars. "No," he answers while using his other hand to tap his helm.

Frowning, I murmur, "I see."

"Please stop frowning. It seems to be the norm around me. It's a rather discouraging."

I drop my facial expression into a neutral state for his sake and take his hand holding my chin before the touch causes my systems to give me away. Luckily another thin marking on his chest catches my optics while we share a few unrelated words.

His lack of concern over scars primarily caused by the fall of Praxus makes _me_ uncomfortable. I don't know if I can do anything to help Ratchet, but the concept of Prowl being unaffected by the remnants of that tragedy is too unpleasant for passive acceptance. I remember his reaction when Praxus fell; a bit jarring and disconnected, like someone toggling his emotions between detachment, anger, and despair. Perhaps the latter two were caused by the "bridge" allowing emotions to communicate? If there was ever a time for an emotion to be strong enough to reach him via the pseudo-bridge, that'd be the time. Asking him now is probably not ideal, though. Not sure if I can do it without accidently implying an accusation of whether or not he ever cared about losing Praxus.

After a quarter joor my internal alarm alerts me to our shift. I allow my auxiliary fans to return online while squeezing Prowl's hand. "Time for us to get moving."

"Is it time for my shift?"

"Yeah, yours and mine. I moved them both." We untangle ourselves and I help him out of the berth. While he stretched I found a section of a modulated table support and fashioned it into a cane. I handed it to him. "To offset the doorwing weight issue."

"Surely I'll learn how to compensate."

"Between here and your office?" I grinned and forced it into his hand. "I could help you and then spend the shift with you in your office."

"Thank you but no. I suspect without any understanding, you and I walking around together might cause a whole new wave of tension through the _Ark_."

I started frowning but quickly turned it into thinly pressed lips. That's slightly better than a frown, right?

Prowl spoke up before I could declare anything. "Don't Jazz. We don't need you arguing with mechs who only care about you. Or just like being afts, whichever we'd run into first. I don't want to explain myself to anyone. We can deal with it later."

"Explain what?" Explain me, us, or him? Explain now or what happened between us prior to that battle? I can't explain anything but it'd help to hear his side. I was angry before he onlined from Medbay, and now I'm dealing with the onslaught of new and fundamentally altering information. I'm considering pointing out that he's partly mistaking my reason behind my mood shift.

"Another time," he reiterates. "I'm assuming you need to go back to your quarters. I'll be walking slower so I should leave now."

"Yeah I do." I move to his right arm, acutely aware that I haven't been monitoring him these past couple of breems. "Sorry, Prowl, but I can't risk you offlining on us."

"This has been an on-going risk. You and the rest shouldn't act like I'm suddenly at death's door."

"We just found out about this!" I snap, my fluid emotions splashing back to anger before retreating like an evening tide. "I'm not risking anything being the straw to your camel's back."

"What?"

"It means - oh, never mind. Get ready to flip on the sensors. All of them. Less than 100% sensors mean less than 100% coverage." I use my magnetic pulses to interrupt the device and Prowl starts turning on his sensors. I watch him carefully like I did when turning them off, and when he claims he's done I shake my head. I know he's lying but I won't berate him about it. Instead I just tell him to finish.

When he's done and he's confirmed that he's not hurting, we move out into the hallway once Prowl determines it's empty. I broadly smile at him. "See you later." I leave to my own quarters while he continues on his way to his office. I grab a few items for my walk-around but I mainly only came to my quarters to privately meditate. I don't exactly have time for deep reflection but I can see the basics: Prowl is still important to me and perhaps even more so now that I know what's really been standing between us. I still don't quite know what I want from or with him, but I now know he can't truly give, partake, or fully comprehend receiving anything while he remains in his situation.

My shifts don't start in my office and all the officers know that. So does everyone else but they think I'm being playful, cheeky, or troublesome. My shift starts in the Rec Room and continues until I've made all the rounds will all online Autobots within easy access of the _Ark_. Then I use my office to touch base with those online but not within easy access, active missions aside. When done I write up my "Daily Morale" report, coined by Ironhide. It summarizes the general attitude, highlights, and anything that flags my attention. I generally avoid including specific mechs unless most of the officers will be coming across said mech while his morale is compromised; otherwise it only goes as far as whichever officer will be most likely affected, be it the officer's daily plans or resource allocations in Ratchet's Medbay, Wheeljack's lab, or Prowl's schedules. Once in a great while it goes to Smokescreen but those are for serious cases. Basically I carefully walk the line of discreet tattle telling and keeping synchronized peacefully happiness. Not my favorite position but I do like spending sometimes half my shift talking and hanging out. Helps stop fallouts, too.

By mid-shift I make it through most of my reports with "required by" dates sometime within the next three standard shifts. Unlike Prowl who works everything as soon as he can, I work by threes. Three orns, three categories, three levels, etc. It gives me some recovery time in case something happens without particularly sacrificing my personal time. It also lets me work more fluidly, which is why I can slide my shifts around with Prime's trust.

I comm. Prowl and remind me he still owes me break time but he declines for this shift. He does so with rare humor so I figure it's more shift-related than me-related. I let it go and keep working. Bumblebee briefly joins me for his take on mid-shift _Ark_ morale, which usually doesn't vary much from my take. If it's something relevant to an officer or a moderately significant change then I'll write it up but otherwise I leave it. Now is no different. Blaster sends me a comm. message to talk but I decline. I'm not certain what to say to my closest friend, when taking into account every hidden detail I learned. I figure I'll talk to Blaster just before the next primary shift because by then I might have a better understanding what's going on between Prowl and me. It also gives me time to figure what to say because I doubt saying, "and then a bunch of private stuff came to light and I realized that I barely knew the basic fundamentals of Prowl," is going to be an okay explanation.

Come the end of my shift I find out Prowl left for Medbay as orders. After an off-duty trip to the Rec Room to refuel and entertain myself I try checking on him but Perceptor sends me away with an apologetic smile. Supposedly Ratchet's busy working on an offline Prowl and doing what he would've been doing if Prowl hadn't disappeared on him earlier.

Okay, well that's not necessarily bad. Who's online for me to chat with before having some recharge myself? I remotely check with Teletraan for those with online statuses in the nearby vicinity and not on the tertiary shift rosters. Blaster's not online but then expected. Basically my options are limited to those coming off of secondary shift, some of those making the most of their leave for the entire shift rotation, and those from the primary shift still unable to recharge.

Smokescreen is available and he's outside. I join him at his resting spot, almost on the opposite side of the volcano. "What's up?" I ask breezily, glancing at the stars peaking around the wispy clouds.

"Hmm?" Smokescreen sits up from his nestled position and sets down his datapad. "I'm taking a break from Blue. He wanted to check on Prowl back when he was out from the battle but we agreed to wait until Ratchet okay'd him for visitors. You know how it goes if Blue's in Medbay when someone is onlining. Makes Ratchet angry overhearing the constant prattling.

"Prowl getting out early followed by Ratchet cursing him, Prowl recharging through the primary shift, Blue being _way_ delayed getting off of patrol, and then Prime sending Prowl back to Medbay, well… He's recharging like a youngling, taking short naps instead of a real recharge. Every nap is resulting in the same fifteen questions upon onlining. I figured I come out here, relax a little, and if _really_ necessary even recharge out here until it's time to head in for my shift."

He's already setting up an easy in for me. "Can't say Blue doesn't have an incredibly strong love for family and close friends. I take it he's not only still upset about Prowl but also extra upset because of the whole sudden Medbay status juggling?"

"Yup."

"Has he always been like that, even as a youngling? Habit of napping when worried or is that due to war?"

"It was a mild youngling-hood quirk that's been exasperated by war. One of his many quirks that turned into a serious issue thanks to never ending combat," Smokescreen wirily added to his answer, a light scowl appearing on his face.

"That sucks. What about Prowl? Any quirks – or maybe that glitch? Did he have the glitch before the war?" Take the bait, Smokey.

"Yeah, I suppose. It wasn't something we talked about; not exactly a polite issue to bring up." Given what I know but that he doesn't know that I know, I can see his guard suddenly slide into place, even if outwardly he shows no difference.

"I get that. It's just that his glitch is what saved his processor from the attack." I lazily smile and casually sit down by him while keeping him in full view.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I guess it shut down his processor so the nanites couldn't progress their attacks. When Prowl was awake he mentioned he's had that glitch for a long time, just to a lesser bit."

"Why did he mention that?" Smokescreen almost left that as a stand-alone question, presumably because he was used to me being there or shortly afterwards when Prowl onlines. "Wait, why were you there? Mechs have been largely leaving me alone about the latest whole 'Prowl's a total fragger to Jazz' but I do recall that it was supposedly the last pipe to the overburdened shed."

"It was," I answered nonchalantly. "Then things got complicated again."

Smokescreen chortled. "I know what you mean. For someone who's distant he somehow complicates other mech lives with few touches. Blue and I basically evaded the 'Prowl equals total fragger' arguments."

"You weren't worried about defending the 'middle bro'?"

Smokescreen briefly shrugged. "He's a big mech. If he's not defending himself then what right do we have to do it on his disinterested behalf? We figured going against the example he set wasn't worth it. Blue's never happy about it but the vorns have forced him to accept and follow whatever Prowl does on his own."

"I just thought you'd still defend him since you three had a close youngling-hood, based on how much Blue's attached to him." I'm becoming frustrated how the conversation kept veering off from where I wanted it to go but I'm meticulously monitoring my tone to avoid tipping him off.

"Blue's youth has a narrow window of memory." Smokescreen shrugged again, presumably out of discomfort for the subject. "Prowl wasn't a part of our lives until I was a mechling rather than a youngling. Blue was practically still a sparkling. Even then Prowl was in and out."

"Why?"

"Our creators sent him to a school more fitting of his processor." I bet Smokescreen was counting on me assuming he was talking about Prowl's gift for tactics.

"To deal with his glitch or his gift? Or both? How long was he a part of your family? I knew he was orphaned but 'when', 'why', and 'how' hasn't come up."

"Gift, but it did have a good medical staff for his situation." Smokescreen optics shifted subtly to his datapad. He's probably weighing the pros and cons of responding to anymore questions with half-answers or telling me flat out to get lost so he can read and recharge. I glance at his datapad and see bidding prospect references in the corner.

"Seriously, what happened? Prowl and I have had several discussions about our previous lives but neither of us has gone back that far. I figured his was at least semi-normal, relative to an orphan being accepted by caring extended family."

"Then maybe you should discuss it with him. It's better for him to tell what he wants than for me to accidently give away what he doesn't want out there."

"Come on, you know how he gets about emotional stuff, and I'm pretty sure everything I just said counts at emotional. I'm not asking what he wrote in his diary."

"Primus, sometimes I don't like you," he groaned. "Look, they died when he was barely past his first upgrade."

"Then what, he went straight to your family?"

"Something like that. For a little while he was missing and actually wound up in Kaon."

"Really?" I leaned forward, my interest peaking more than I thought it could, given my existing curiosity.

"Yeah. You should really talk to him. That gets way personal."

"You can't say that Prowl went missing and then tell me to wait until he's up and willing to talk!"

"Yes I can."

"Come on. How about we play for it? You want high-grade energon, I have access to the confiscated supplies. It's a good supply, too. I've indulged a few times." I jabbed my finger at him and then my thumb back at me. "I want information."

Smokescreen's optics glowed but he contorted his mouth. "Doesn't seem like a sweet enough pot to risk betraying him."

"Betrayal? You're just a mech reminiscing about his pre-war life." I point to his datapad. "I see you're working on gambling prospects. Besides me not reporting you, anything I can do to increase your odds is on the table. Well, almost anything. Nothing I'll get caught doing or need all that high-grade myself to drown out the memories."

The remaining uncertainty morphed into a cocky smile. "Alright. It just so happens I have cards for poker. Dice too if you want a different game."

We gambled for a little while until the moon was setting behind the first haze of morning. I won enough hands to get six answers, although technically I'm in debt to him for a several cubes and one gambling favor. "First question: what happened to Prowl's creators? I already knew they died but details I lack."

Smokey bitterly answered. "They were killed by a twisted mech."

"Whoa! That's seriously harsh and heavy. How and why did he end up in Kaon?"

"That's question two and three," he reminded me. "You remember that Kaonian who focused on Praxian travelers and had captured creators write out family notes for sparing their creations' lives? He used the notes as a counter forensics measure to excuse absences. That's how a too-young Prowl got dumped in Kaon with his identity chip removed."

"How long until your family found him?"

"After his creators were identified from the mass grave," Smokescreen quietly answered, obviously uncomfortable. "The Enforcers got information where the sparklings and younglings were left. Most were dropped off at youth centers that didn't push younglings for answers, or report their erratic intake numbers."

"What was his situation?"

"By the time my creators got to him he was almost a young mechling but he had problems. He was rehabilitated at one school and then afterwards sent to the specialty school for gifted mechlings. That's five. You have one more question."

"How bad off was he? You gotta give me one more. Does Blue know?"

Smokescreen hesitated. "Fine, freebie. Blue doesn't know anything before the specialty schools, and he thinks both were for gifted mechlings. So for the love of Primus, _do not tell him_.

"He'd gotten into trouble and an accident. That caused the roots of the glitch you know today. There was some medic that cared for him but then that medic died. Kaon's neighborhoods for the poor and orphaned were never nice, and kind mechs in possession of goods weren't always well protected. My creators never told him beyond the absolute necessary but he always suspected something was terribly amiss before then. His creators were sweet and he knew they wouldn't abandon him.

"After the medic died he got into more trouble but he started settling out with a friend by the time we found out about him. He rehabilitated faster than we expected, 'though he always seemed aloof. Blue instantly loved Prowl like our third brother and that seemed to help. Reciprocating Blue's energetic love wasn't easy for him but losing Praxus caused Prowl to breech that disconnect in probably the only way possible, in light of their polar-opposite approaches. I suppose Prowl understood unexpected loss and devastation to the young. I got the impression he wanted to protect Blue from as much darkness as he experienced. I never asked, but then, I don't need to."

We sat in silence for a little while, him probably reliving some moments while I wondered how much he knew about the accident and the damage reaching beyond even the glitch. Eventually Smokescreen murmured that it was time to leave for the primary shift. Since I prefer that shift I decided to forgo recharge. I doubt I could try now anyways, learning what I did and with Prowl possibly still out. I'll sideline my plans with Blaster as well.

We left and once more I checked on Prowl. When Wheeljack confirmed he was still out but noted not for too much longer, I thanked him and left. I went straight to my office, forgoing my Daily Morale report. My own morale has plummeted down into the empty magna tunnels of our homey volcano and it's going to take some serious positive Special Ops assignment planning to bring it back up.

I pulled out the easier task items, knowing it'd take a while for me to focus anyways. How does one mech end up so unlucky? Was he screwed from that one point where his family was captured? No wonder he never formed an attachment, emotional disability notwithstanding. There's always been plenty of Autobots questioning how someone so emotionless ended up an Autobot, especially after another encounter with Shockwave as he spouts his version of logic, but I think Prowl has more reason to be an Autobot than most of them. A mech touched by a malicious world so early on may have more reason than not for rejecting further intrusion of evil deeds and intentions. More so than those who feel justified in questioning him.

I asked Bumblebee to send a morale summary report for me but to avoid Prowl's family since I knew they were in a funk. I let Bee believe it was solely over Prowl's Medbay stay for both.

I managed to bury myself in my reports for a little while until I got a worried comm. message from Bee about Prowl. I jogged from my office to the officers' quarters, slowing down only when passing other mechs, to catch Prowl.

I barely made it, seeing him walk with his cane and approaching his door. "What's wrong?" I asked before he could get away.

"Sorry?"

"What's wrong?" I repeated. "Bumblebee saw you and said you were moving pretty slow."

"Why do you assume something is wrong?"

"You were walking okay earlier, then you're in Medbay for a while and now you're walking slowly." I left out the parts I just learned. For him they were ancient history that he probably didn't dwell on for obvious reasons.

"I need to recharge."

"Oh, okay." I paused. "Do you need help getting recharge?" I could catch up on mine as well and work around a split shift.

"Aren't you on shift?"

I waved dismissively. "I'm a master at moving my schedule around." I reached out and brushed my fingers against the monitor still on his arm, blinking with data from his sensors. "Do you need help?"

"No, I won't require your assistance. The immediate issue has been resolved. Thank you. Have a pleasant shift, Jazz." He slipped past me before I could figure out a good excuse to follow him into his own quarters.

I guess his Medbay visit didn't go well.

I hung around the officers' hallway, torn on my options. I could hack into his quarters, finish my shift, talk to close friends (with carefully-worded phrases), or shrug it off and hang out in the Rec Room. Each had its own merits and risks.

What I didn't anticipate was option number five: Bluestreak. Initially I decided on finishing my shift, relaxing in the Rec Room until I figured things out, and then chat with Blaster. I barely started turning when a grey blur flew into the hallway from the Medbay direction. Said blur nearly went straight through me and into Prowl's door but stopped when I unexpectedly became an obstacle. "Jazz! Is Prowl in his quarters? I really want to talk to him - oh wait, you aren't talking to him. Right? So you probably wouldn't know if he is or isn't. Unless you saw him? If you - "

"Yeah Blue, I saw him."

"Oh okay. Is he in his quarters? Can I talk to him? Did you talk to him?" The nervous mech was shifting on his peds like the only thing keeping him from attacking Prowl's door chime was fear of encroaching on Prowl's privacy or blowing me off. If someone wasn't here and forcing him to think about his actions he probably would've already pressed that chime seven times.

"He went straight for recharge." The caring mech's crestfallen expression and sudden stillness tugged at me and I smiled assuredly. "But he's probably not offline yet. Send him a _short_ comm. message and then chime his door _once_ to let him know that you're out here."

"You think it'll work?"

"It's better than you worrying about trying or not trying." I left Blue and sauntered back to my office, keeping my mood and expectations light. A distraught Blue almost always brings back a distant Prowl. Unless I hear differently, I'm going to finish my shift, relax for a few breems in the Rec Room, and then comm. Smokey to see what Blue says. I'll figure it out after there.

 

|/\/\/\|

 

::Hey, Smokey. How'd it go between Prowl and Blue?::

::Ugh.::

::What the Pit does that mean? I was expecting the cliffnotes version from you but that's too cliffy.::

Smokescreen groaned across the comm. while I casually drank the last remains of my energon from a Rec Room table. I can see the T.V. from here but at this distance I can disengage without notice. Smokescreen answered after an inaudible mutter. ::Prowl didn't want to answer the door, eventually Blue's whining engine forced him to. Blue wanted to hug him, Prowl politely rebuffed his attempts due to Medbay equipment, and then Blue got all extra mopey about it. I'm not entirely sure what happened next because my only source is an upset Blue. Doesn't sound like Prowl was rude to him but less warm and fuzzy than Blue hoped for.::

::Please tell me you're talking hyperbole and that Blue wasn't actually expecting long warm hugs.::

::Mostly me talking. Someone will have to get it from the other half of the discussion. I choose you.::

::Me, why me? Hello, off again, on again. And that's just optic contact!::

::Blue told me you encouraged him to talk to Prowl, plus all that probing _you_ interjected yourself into. You jumped into the deep end of the family pool and then you started making waves; therefore you're responsible for finishing it.::

::And you wouldn't have encouraged him the same way with an upset Blue outside Prowl's door?:: I snicker, deliberately avoiding any reaction to his "deep end of the family pool" innuendo.

::I've got my own equation and criteria for letting the pair talk or using a diversion on one of them.::

::Hah, I'd like to see you try that with Prowl.::

::Help me put things back in order and I promise you a heads up the next time it comes up.::

::I make no promises. I'm also not doing anything until Teletraan says he's online and moving.:: I remotely check-in. ::He's not even online.::

::Well do something when he gets up, or else I'll probably need your help in buffering the situation. So far I have Blue tentatively scheduled for play dates. Yes, play dates, because that sounds slightly better than 'finding distractions so I don't yell at Blue over repetitive questions while I'm still digging for answers'.::

::I'll do what I can but my brief conversation with Prowl just before Blue's didn't go so well.::

::If it's 'not so well but we're still talking', then I appreciate the help. If it's 'not so well so now we're back off talking again' then suck it up. Dealing with Blue and Prowl takes team effort!::

::Because you're the totem of stability and wellbeing,:: I playfully tease, continuing to ignore my disappoint that an upset Blue didn't have the normal effect.

::Oh shut up. We all got problems and no one here is a true example of stable wellbeing. We got a couple that _would_ be close if it weren't for that darn ol' war hanging over our heads,:: he snidely replied, sarcastically adding "darn ol' war" as if spoken by an elderly noble mech living only in dreams of the Golden Age. ::I want my brothers back to normal. Preferably better than normal but shy of Megatron's deactivation and Decepticons crumbling, Primus will have to step in for the assist. I'm not collecting odds on that.::

It didn't escape my notice him calling Prowl a brother. Aside from questions like what I was asking earlier, the trio all call each other brother. I'm pretty sure most of the _Ark_ doesn't know Prowl isn't immediate spark kin. His usage of it now suggests the effects of my (admittedly, intrusive) questions are gone. Still... ::You got your own special concerns about Prowl? Like what I should ask him or look out for.::

Smokescreen mulled that over and I idly twirled my empty energon container until he spoke. ::Beyond the obvious? Not yet but I'll probably have plenty of other questions once I have more parameters.::

::Aw, look at you, approaching a situation like a responsible mech by excluding illegal methods or uses,:: I fake cooed.

::Who said I needed the parameters for my legal Autobot responsibilities? I only said parameters,:: he snickered with a little deviousness in his voice.

::My bad. Okay, I promise I'll try for as long as Prowl doesn't totally frag me off.::

::Times three. He has to get you cursing his name like it's synonymous with Unicron three times before I let you throw in the towel.::

::Excuse me? Who's the superior here, because last I checked the office door near Prime's displays a pretty high title right above my name plate.::

::You like working in threes, humans got that sport with three strikes to be out. Three pissing contests where he wins sounds like a good place to draw the line.::

::I don't care for that line's location,:: I warned. ::Again, door plates. Me. High ranking.::

::Would you rather I call in that gambling favor and have you assist me in setting odds of Prowl versus you in a contest of wits and stubbornness? Because I will and I'll set odds by the deca-orn. Get my meaning? You wanna see me blend my legal skills with my less-legal skills, then you get seats by _and on_ center stage.::

Slag, I forgot Prowl's not the harsher one of the three 'brothers.' Prowl has regular opportunity for making examples, so he's more quantity whereas Smokescreen is more quality. By 'quality' I mean he leaves a stronger impression through lies and cheating to force others his way, with the possibility of a literal or figurative blast of magnetized smoke clouds. Half of Prowl's repeat offenders don't repeat offending Smokey. ::Let's not go there yet. Preferably not at all because we'll resolve this quick. Oh, and by-the-way, I suddenly remembered why you're not my favorite working partner.::

::Awww, sad orn for Jazz. The odds I had on that? 4-to-1, as in I, for one, don't care.::

I close the comm. line and groan, waving off whoever asked me if I was alright. Damn all three bothers. If only I wasn't fighting my on-going naughty thoughts for one. That naughty-thought-inducer better be online and available well before my next shift.


	4. Prowl's POV: Gaining the Upper Hand

Barely a breem after hitting my berth and cursing the world my door chimed along with the incoming comm. message from Bluestreak. ::Prowl, please answer. I haven’t talked to you in so long and I need to know you’re okay. I know you’re technically okay since you’re here and not with Ratchet but that’s Ratchet’s definition of ‘okay’, not my definition. Please come out or let me in, I’m at your door.::

The plea instantly twisted my spark as if someone tried squeezing out all of its energy, despite the numbness existing only a few breems or so ago. I felt an involuntary contraction of my midsection as if either defending against a kick or spasmic need to get up. Despite those reactions I’m not ready to see others, especially ones who need me in a better state. ::Blue, I’m exhausted and while I understand your need to see me, I’m unable to move easily and incapable or receiving guests.::

::Please.::

I waited before realizing that was all Bluestreak said. No rambling, no fretful explanations, just one word. ::Blue, I am not well and will make very poor company. Please take my word for it that I will be okay. I promise to comm. you the moment I am able to socialize.::

::Please!:: The painful whining sounds of his engine startle me. I didn’t expect to hear his engine from the back wall of my quarters, despite the otherwise dead air.

That did it. Another strong, tight twisting sensation from my spark and I was up and moving as quickly as I could without the cane, least Bluestreak see it and his worries further grow. I gripped the doorframe tightly to steady myself upright before letting go and commanding the door to open.

Bluestreak’s optics flashed and doorwings flared with relief momentarily before he bobbed his head up and down, looking me over. “What’s on your arm? What’s going on with your doorwings? Why did Ratchet bring you out of medical stasis if they are still that wrapped up? Usually he's more conservative on doorwings, waking us up when they need less medical stuff almost glued to them.” Two-thirds through his fretting his hands and forearms moved slight upward into what Smokescreen calls Bluestreak’s “pre-hug position.” Usually if he’s incredibly upset about one of us, like he appears to be now, he’ll locked said brother in a tight embrace. He knows that violates my rules on personal space but he doesn’t care. During those times I usually allow it for his sake.

This time, though, I’ve got a monitor mounted to my right arm that’s attached to unwanted wires running under my armor, a cooling blanket lodged tightly inside my chassis, and any extra movement or weight might send me toppling over. “Blue, I know you normally require contact when you’re this worried, but I am not capable of receiving or providing that right now. I am partly covered in medical equipment to address the slow-healing damage of battle. Some of it you see but there’s more under the armor. It’s prudent that I don’t disturb any of it.”

Gravity couldn’t drop his arms down fast enough. His doorwings moved in a combination of twitches and dips, communicating his distress. His silence combined with those movements mean that he’s fighting against blurting everything out because he can’t convey the right words in a reasonable amount of time, potentially undermining his own point. He needs to be immediately understood before he loses the internalized struggle. In overly simplistic terms, his doorwing communications mean he’s distraught from being left out and he’s hurting from the lasting silence with no real answers.

In response I use my doorwings to tell him that I’m here to protect him. I pull my doorwings back and then flare them out, ignoring the tenseness and joint throbbing while putting great concentration on my balance. At least Perceptor’s pain medication seems to be effective for doorwing movement as well. I tip them at Bluestreak while reaching out with my left arm and very lightly brush the outside edge of his hand. That’s the closest to voluntary handholding as I get. All are part of my methods used for helping Bluestreak achieve some sort of peace. “I cannot give you all the answers but I am safe. Take comfort in what’s available for you to know now. I wish I could help you feel better about the silence from us while we sort out the issues, but know that no one means it. There are just too much on-going efforts and even I don’t know it all. You know how I feel about passing on information that I am only partly satisfied in my comprehension.”

That got him to lightly chortle, his tense doorwings relaxing as mine. The throbbing in my joints grew so I brought my doorwings back to their natural neutral position. He looks closer at me with tight optics, while his shoulders roll back and increase their tension. My words aren’t comforting enough but he’ll take some measure of relief in them. I may be incapable of reading most mechs but watching Bluestreak grow and then helping him through Praxus’s fall helped me understand his various ways of communicating. Unfortunately thanks to Megatron's destruction of our home I know Bluestreak's more negative emotion indicators.

“Blue, I need a quiet recharge now that I’ve been discharged from Medbay. Pass on my ongoing progress with Smokescreen? Let him know that I’m out and resting. I’ll be going in and out Medbay regularly but only for on-going status checks. Nothing that will require me to be offline or staying longer than a few breems. Alright?”

His doorwings quivered with protest to being sent away, but he slowly nodded. “Okay. I can talk to Smokey for you. You will keep both of us in the loop? You know we will be there for you, always. Shift times don’t matter.”

“Yes, I will keep you in the loop,” I answer, body tension dissipating when he didn’t add a timeframe or repeat frequency for giving them information. I will update them when my doorwings are healed, which will hopefully coincide with Ratchet removing the spark monitor. I’m not sure how I will explain the monitor if I appear otherwise healed.

Bluestreak reluctantly nods and starts to slowly leave. “Love you, brother. Don’t go another so long without saying ‘hi’ to me.”

Another small spark twist ending with a small flutter in my spark happens with his words. Comparing it to the level of spark twisting earlier, I shouldn’t have felt it to any certain degree (nor the brief, small flutter) but I did. A testament to my systems quickly breaking down Perceptor’s medications. “I promise.”

Once he’s gone I carefully move back to my berth. This time I take the time to properly lie on my left side with a slight forward roll to minimize doorwing pressures. Returning to my berth also restarts my interrupted observations regarding Ratchet’s explanation. Sparks give energy when happy, I was happy with Jazz, and that spark-happy response is what caused me physical pain. True, Ratchet specifically said the free or uncontrolled energy of my spark is what caused the pain and not actual pleasure, but transitive properties say he’s wrong. If Cause A equals Cause B, and Cause B equals Cause C, then Cause A will always equal Cause C, so long as approximation margins aren’t a factor. If happiness causes my spark to pulse faster and stronger, and stronger pulses cause pain, then it can only be logically concluded that happiness causes pain. I don’t see a probable margin of error from that non-numerical conclusion. I doubt there’s anything Ratchet can say to change any of that. I fail to see a situation he’ll allow where Cause B (spark energy) will not generate Cause C (pain).

I need to find my own solution, be it to stop happiness or the ability to sense spark energy. Ratchet’s currently preventing me from doing the later, and asking Jazz to help me defeats the purpose, so a work around or a new solution must be had. This will be my first priority upon onlining due to my latest requirement of seeing Ratchet prior to my shift start.

I have a bit of an immediate predicament: I need to recharge to dissipate the effects of Medbay, but I also need a workable solution before happiness can strike again. I doubt Ratchet will find a solution to nullify the damages of a happy spark before my shift starts. Obviously this is not the first time I’ve face a conundrum, where necessary recharging conflicts with my other needs, but usually I’m weighing recharge with maintaining an army.

I use a query algorithm to speedily work through my many memories to find a workable option with similar characteristics. The query yields something I used a very long time ago. Satisfied with the discovery I work through my systems until everything runs smoothly for recharge. I initiate the archaic, small program for my battle computer and then offline my consciousness.

 

|\/\/\/|

 

I onlined and immediately checked my internal chronometer. Good, I have about 1.5 joors before my shift begins. Normally I wouldn’t consider that acceptable after taken in reference to when I offlined but rather a sign of malfunction. This time I not only expected the extended recharge but I had anticipated it lasting another half joor.

I searched for the output files generated from my battle computer from that program. If any intruder forcibly bypassed my firewalls they’d pass over the program or give it a good laugh. On the surface it’s for building socializing protocols and devising accessible actions to various social settings and potential outcomes.

I rarely care about surface-level perceptions. Besides the fact I’m proof about misleading topical information, it leads to other types of misinformation. That program had all the innocent tales of a simple social problem others may laugh about, but those mechs would be fools. This wasn’t a program on how I work with others; this was a program how to work others.

More precisely, this is my program for allowing my battle computer to apply battle tactics to social situations or mechs. While I recharged it churned through a long list of compiled data, and when done it went into standby mode for recharge.

I scanned through the files, from the summary file to the individual files of plans, schedules, and potential options for evading detection. Another list contained the assortments I need to achieve the end goal.

I reviewed the files of the individuals first, knowing those were more subject to unexpected changes. Bluestreak was the easiest; so long as he felt heard and believed himself to be involved then he wouldn’t look for anything. Optimus Prime was next, followed by Ironhide, Wheeljack, Perceptor, First Aid, Smokescreen, and Ratchet. While the medic and his support system of mechs presented multiple risks based on their individuals roles within his team, the biggest risk was Jazz. The nature of our ever-changing relationship, combined with its noticeable effects on me, and his sharp saboteur mind made him a risk to my plans. The fact our current relationship status was positive compared to where it was prior to the battle also elevates these risk factors.

I scan through it, caught off guard but some of its nature. Besides its summaries, it suggests that shutting Jazz out while I complete my task is not the best course of action, but neither is letting him know my plans. Our current trend and his stubbornness may present an issue and I’m better off allowing it to progress, only at a slow pace. The idea makes causes a chill in my body, strongest over chassis and hands, but it dies with a warm bubbling sensation. I think that's hopefulness?

I work meticulously through each file until my door chimes _again_ just under a joor before my shift. Sighing irritably at the increased door traffic to what’s normally my Area of Social Reprieve, I answer it with the same preparations as when I met with Bluestreak. “Hello, Jazz?” I questioningly greeted him.

“Heya, Prowler.”

“Jazz, isn’t it a bit early for me to start correcting you on appropriate terms of familiarity between officers? Or are you enjoying it now to the point of searching me out just to push the line?” I artfully ask, careful to assert the idea of a slowed positive progress.

Jazz snickered. “If I had to pick, the second one. Let me in.”

“Why?”

“Because you can walk carefully back or I can push you back.”

“Or I could command the door to close on you,” I retaliate while leaning back so I’m clear of the door. Jazz instantly takes one step inward so the door proximity sensors won’t allow the door to close. “Since when are you this obstinate before your shift? Has something happened?”

“Step inside and I’ll tell you.” I don’t move. “Or I push and you fall over, and then I’ll tell you as I pull you back up.” Someone’s weirdly cheerful.

“You wouldn’t push me over and force me to land on my doorwings.”

“Who said you’d land on your doorwings? I just said you’d fall over, I didn’t say I let you hit the ground.”

With a slight grumble about stubborn mechs inside another’s private quarters I step back and allow him to breezily stroll by me. He turns around and without warning grabs my hands with a light but firm grasp. The unexpected physical contact elicits an uncontrolled tiny gasp from me but he tugs me forward before I can pull away. He grins and says, “Come on, let’s sit down on your chairs for entertaining.”

“I can walk.”

“Yeah, slowly. I don’t have patience for it. We’re on the pre-clock clock.”

“The what?” I ask as I sit down.

“The countdown before our shifts start,” he replies airily as if it were obvious. He drops down in my chair with a bit of bounce. I may never fully understand this mech. Sometimes I’m not sure I even half understand him.

“Alright, Jazz, now that we are sitting, can you please tell me what’s got you cheerful and paying me a visit me?”

“Life?”

“That’s not an acceptable answer.”

He responds with his “Cheshire cat” grin, so named by several 'bots. I seriously don’t understand him. “Hmm, well Prowler, if I had to pin it down I’d say I woke up on the right side of the recharge berth. Or maybe I decided that we’ve had too many bad or unhappy times for a while now, excluding that one recharge cycle, so I’m not going to take it anymore by being happy and infecting you with it. Well, as much as you can be infected while you’re all… I dunno… you.”

“Excuse me?” My voice sharpens as my spark lets out a small burst-like sensation. Besides being accused of a being fundamentally wrong by being me, he's also just described happiness as an infection. His point may have been intended as some form of endearment but he's just added another tally in my column for justifying my ulterior plan.

“Well, saying you’re compromised, conflicted, constantly tackling the illogical, or just confused seemed to be a bit judgmental, ya’know?" His voice becomes smooth, the opposite of my sharp tone. "I don’t know what’s going on inside that helm of yours so I’m not going to bother coming up with my own descriptions. You tell me.”

Pause. Perhaps I jumped to conclusions about seeing an accusation in his previous statement. “That… that will take a moment.”

“I got a moment. I might even give you two. Got a question for you anyway, so whenever you’re done.”

I realize this is the first time someone who knows what’s happened has asked me how I feel about it. So far those who know have only asked or commented about how to make things right by their own descriptions or definitions. “I supposed I’m confused over the conflictions I experiencing against my will.”

Jazz tilted his head while lessening his smile. “How?” he asked with genuine earnest.

“Right now I’m receiving noisy input from my spark to a caliber I’ve never allowed when I had control. It’s still a wordless whisper constantly changing tones in the back of my processor, as it has been since Ratchet took control. Sometimes the tone conflicts with what I’m thinking. Without the ability to tune it down to something I understand or can handle, I’m just confused. Sometimes it’s so confusing and noisy it causes my processor to ache.” There's a rolling sense of light fluttering from my spark. A sign, I believe, for the comfort in telling someone interested in understanding that already knows. I’m sure my brothers will try understanding but I don’t know how the information will affect them on a personal level. Regardless, with the medication gone, I can already feel a newly-familiar ache in my chassis from that rolling spark sensation.

His smile is gone. “I don’t think we’ve thought of it like that. It’s so seamless for us it doesn’t hurt like that and we can block it out. I guess it’s like having a system forced onto your processor rather than integrating it so your processor has almost total control.”

“That’s almost precisely what it is.”

“Huh. Well, maybe Ratchet will come up with a solution that’s more middle ground.”

“I tend to doubt it, in part because I don’t think he’s willing to hear it right now. It appears he’s still taking this as a personal front by me and the discovery is very fresh for him. Perhaps when he’s had time to fully digest my situation and accept my reasoning for keeping this to myself.”

My comm. pings and I ask Jazz to hold his response. ::Prowl,:: Ratchet’s voice snippily demands my immediate attention.

Aloud I remark to my physically present guest, “Speak of the devil. He does not sound to be in an accepting mood. Please wait while I sort this out.”

While Jazz nods I respond to Ratchet. ::Yes?::

::Your shift starts in twenty breems. Get here now or I’ll put you on leave for Wheeljack to examine your sensors directly instead of through images and rendering models.::

::I will leave very shortly.::

::Good. You have five breems.::

::I’ll need eight.:: I closed the line before Ratchet could push back. If he truly wants to he can re-open the line but I can rebuff the attempted communication. “It appears I’m on another countdown clock; one that belongs to Ratchet.”

Jazz pretend-grimaced before returning to a lopsided smile. “Fewer clocks strike more fear than that one. Another time for this conversation, whenever you want it. Let’s get going. I might as well start my shift a little early.”

“What? Please repeat that last part.” Jazz stands next to me and reluctantly I hold up my hands so he can pull me up rather than force me up.

“Hilarious. Maybe I’ll start something in the Rec Room.”

“Don’t you dare,” I sternly warn as we approached my door. Letting go of his persistent hold, I explain, “I don’t need your assistance, Jazz. I may walk slowly but I am capable of walking.”

As the door opened he replied back, “You weren’t earlier. Oh yeah, I had a question for you about that.”

“Earlier I was exhausted. Now I’m not. Can your question wait?”

“Well if that’s what makes the difference then I’ll kick you out of your office at the end of your shift. And yeah, it can.”

“No need, Ratchet will likely do it.”

He raised his optic ridge at me, barely visible with that visor. “Now they’ve got you going before and after each shift?”

“Twice an Earth day. It may not be exactly at the end of my scheduled shift. I'll find out when I see him shortly. I have almost five breems left to meet his pain-free cutoff and it will likely take that long.” After Jazz merrily wished me good luck I started walking to Medbay, steadily picking up speed until I had my normal gait back.

I make it with 0.15 breems to spare. Ratchet sends/pushes me to the private room from earlier with his usual finesse. “Don’t make me wait on you again. I want you here a half-joor before the primary shift, no ‘if’, ‘ands’, or ‘buts’. For every excuse I’ll tack on another day of leaving the struts on your doorwings.”

“You wouldn’t misuse medical needs.”

“We both know you won’t waste your energy on internal healing for ‘minor superficial’ damage, opting just to paint over them to avoid stares. I just might extend the application time for those bandages and their special ointment to remedy your stupidity.”

I slide onto the medical berth but remain sitting. Ratchet grabs a chip and a thin, long-needle syringe. He explained, “The chip will replace Perceptor’s medication from earlier. The chip will focus everything on your processor rather than your processor and neuro-net. Originally we hoped it could work on your processor and spark issues but Perceptor concluded that’s too ambitious for us right now. Tailpipe smacking speed bumps.

“The chip’s data should actively filter out excess spark activity noise. It has some risks so we’re going to switch it out twice a day. The syringe’s contents will restart the thermal reaction in the cooling blanket to keep it from becoming warm while you’re on shift and no doubt getting peeved at your regular troublesome visitors. Otherwise I’d have to rotate blankets.”

“’Peeved’? I think you’re finally cleaning up your language to a more professional level.”

“Frag no. It’s early enough that my usual self hasn’t shown up yet. Wait until I’m in full swing.”

“Good to know. Now I know when to schedule future appointments.”

“Stop being a plotting snarky little sod piece.” Ratchet tapped the medical port in my arm and I opened it for him to add the chip. He slipped the syringe through a seam and into the cooling blanket. “Done. Now get out of here. If there’s no problem then First Aid will be administrating this whenever I’m busy.”

“When am I due back?”

“Two joors after your scheduled shift end. You better refuel before that,” he challenged. “Consider that your new normal until we sort this out.” I thank him for his efforts in attempt to end our quandary. His efforts may undermine my secret intentions to counter their agendas.

For the duration of my walk I carefully monitor my spark to determine if I can feel it like I did earlier when my medication started ebbing away at an undesirable decay rate. The disease from the sensors picking up a response while speaking to Jazz, the series of small energy "snaps" signally its unhappiness with my plan, all fade as medical interventions take effect. By the time I reach the commanding deck’s hallways I can no longer feel my spark, proving that they are still filtering out the spark completely rather than exclusively the excess noise. I have no interest in informing them the treatment is failing to meet their intended purpose since it fully meets mine.

I arrive at my office a breem before my shift starts. “Smokescreen?” I was not expecting my cousin-brother to be sitting in my chair, his optics shrewdly glaring at me.

“I have half a mind to chew you out over Blue. He’s complaining that you won’t tell us about what’s going on. Like that monitor,” he declared while pointing at the unsightly equipment decorating my arm. “There’s no way that’s for your doorwings.”

“You are correct. Ratchet is taking extra precaution for my processor to make sure there are no hidden surprises,” I supply the lie easily. I could imagine my spark is reacting to the lie but my concern is missing without its whining. The truth will cause unnecessary complications in mine and my cousin-brothers' lives.

He frowned with narrowed optics. “That’s it? You couldn’t say that to Blue? You had to be mysterious and claim there’s extra medical equipment that makes it impossible for you to allow him to handle things his normal way? You know how he gets when one of us take serious harm. The mech is just as tactile as he is verbal. Well, in specific circumstances. It’s not like he hugs everyone while talking off whoever’s audio off, thank Primus.”

“There are wires to my processor. As for why I did not tell him, I thought the truth might worry him more. I had no intention of adding to his worries. If you can explain that to him, I would appreciate it. If he has to hear it from me then send him to my office at the end of my shift. His schedule will allow it.”

“How long are you hooked up to Ratchet’s toy?”

“He has not supplied me with an approximate duration or end date. He’s annoyed with me for not taking better care of myself and seems to think that it will force me to recharge more often, least it trigger a response,” I continue the lie after beginning with a true statement.

Smokescreen hums with his consideration. “That sucks. I’ll let Blue know but we both know he’s going to talk to you anyways.” He stands and walks to the door as I step aside so he can leave. “Keep us up-to-date. I’d hate to pull the older brother routine on you.”

“You would not. You’ve never hated that routine. I seem to recall a few mechling-hood calls while we attended different schools where you tried it.” The memories usually held some fondness in them and I'm sure I'd relive that sensation now if it wasn't blocked by medication. Probably for the best given my luck lately.

“Too true, although it would dampen my reputation as the nastier underhanded brother.” He smirks. “Maybe I’ll get Jazz to teach me how to hack into your quarters so I can ambush you without observers.”

“Do that and I’ll remind you that, despite being the older brother, you do not have the rank to overrule me.”

“You wouldn’t,” he turns my words on me.

Unbeknownst to him that without my spark feedback I easily could pull rank without regretting any negative family effects. “Try it and we will see.”

He chuckles and leaves. “Yeah yeah.”

I sit down at my desk as the interaction replays in my mind while I muse the benefits of Ratchet's incomplete solution to what he considers a problem. It’ll be interesting observing the differences when I chose when and how much I felt emotions versus what Ratchet’s methods allow. I suppose we will see where his intentions align with my stoic side.

 

|\/\/\/|

 

Almost two deca-orns later Ratchet and his team hadn’t solved the issue. I never informed them of the overly effective filter; instead, I only told them it’s the chips’ failures of wearing off ahead of the expected duration. Unfortunately that part was true so I couldn’t easily lie to them at that point thanks to my spark’s protesting, a series of energy bursts/snaps depending on its touchiness over the conversation, only carefully omit. Out of curiosity and a need to understand the effects of my new reality I ran simulations from my battle computer when the filters weren’t in place and when they were; from the results I could only conclude that my battle computer was obstructed to some degree by my spark. In part it’s fascinating how that’s a possibility, let alone the calculable differences. According to my battle computer my spark slows it down as much as 5.88% during exercises. Curious, I wonder how it affects other areas.

The cooling blanket started losing its effect around the same period, unfortunately. The signs of a suffering spark repeatedly triggering high demands on the sensors, Ratchet groused. He warned me he’d put me on medical leave if he thought it would do some good but I have the personality of “someone who’d stress about not getting to stress.” Since I did not tell him the strain was likely due to being unheard he believed it was from the malfunctioning sensors. Maybe that was part of the problem but I doubt it’s the primary contributor.

My doorwings were completely healed a deca-orn ago, save the minor discoloration that I convinced Wheeljack to paint over. I didn’t risk asking Hoist, least he protest about waiting to fully heal. There’s a chance the discoloration will heal over time whenever my self-repairs activate over something else but I’m indifferent to that. Continued use of self-repairs consume more energon, which means a slight increase in Rec Room visits. No thank you.

For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to remove Jazz’s cane-styled stick from my subspace. My spark panged unpleasantly and it caused a strange heaviness in my arms when I tried, and when I tried again during its forced silence my battle computer rejected the attempt as well. Since I don’t have a close combat weapon my battle computer demanded that it stays for emergency situations that guns would not be optimal.

The argument wasn't something I expected. Tacticians shouldn't require close combat weapons unless they're doing a very poor job of directing guards along the command line _or_ a mission goes improbably wrong. Then again, if I had a close combat weapon Ravage's attack would've likely been unsuccessful. The vast differences between where I am now and where I would be are not lost on me.

So far from not being lost on me, in fact, that after I came to that conclusion I can't recharge. My battle computer is now focused on it with an infinite loop of what might have been if I hadn't assumed my level of expertise in tactical command and shelter wouldn't leave me vulnerable in a battle, or that the enemy hadn't thought to destroy the major asset of a battle computer highly integrated with a high-ranking officer's processor. In battle I focus on keeping those in the direct line of fire safe in addition to find immediate solutions for those within fist-striking range so they gain the upper hand. These are concepts I understand and I can apply them in real time at a distance, but they are not a reality I understand. From that naivety I ended up here, unable to recharge and looking to execute a secret plan that will likely involve self-performed surgery.

The battle computer has an answer, though. Aside from being unable to execute the plan at this time, I can fix the restlessness while working to reduce the chances of an enemy gaining control like Ravage did. All of the other officers should be recharging, except for Ironhide who's on this deca-orn's officer rotational shift. He's on duty so it won't be an issue.

I slip away to the training area until I reach the room in the furthest back corner. This room is completely isolated, even soundproof, save the emergency comm. It's reserved for officers only should they want to train, provide special one-on-one training, or use more physical means of simulating events. It's isolated for any sessions that include classified data. No one will know I'm here unless they catch me by chance or see the tiny "Occupied. User: Prowl" digital door display. Since no officer is both off-duty and online, no one - and by that I mean Jazz or Ironhide - will check.

Secured in the room I searched through Jazz's databank for his training programs when checking out raw potential for Special Ops. I find an easy program with a section on close combat. I skipped the program so it started at the combat portion. In my pre-Autobot life I knew close combat reasonably well but that training and knowledge is ill-fitted for the violently underhanded mass attacks we face now. When the fake Stunticon-like Decepticon emerged from the wall as desert battleground hologram took over the room, my systems immediately rushed to a high-alert state and my hands practically pulsed with a need to react. Time to decide to wait for the fake Decepticon frontliner to attack or I attack first.

Which is better? Before any indecisiveness can influence me my battle computer presses upon me which is best and the follow-through. First and foremost is that a Decepticon frontliner will always be stronger than me. Leverage and distance is a must. I take out my stick and use it as a staff, glad it's somewhat reinforced.

As soon as the Decepticon was within my staff's striking distance I acted as instructed by the battle computer. Fake jab to its right shoulder, swing the staff under its left arm's attempted block, and drive the edge into the left side of its mid section. My attack succeeds, causing the Decepticon to crunch inward. I continue with the battle computer's plan - except I was partly into the upward strike when the battle computer fired a new plan to adjust for the Decepticon's bodily torsion and low left kick.

My left shin is kicked out and I twist into my standing leg. The Decepticon brings its elbow down towards my head. My staff comes back to block the attack but the elbow only glances off of it and drives into the side of my helm instead of the middle. I crumble but manage to roll away in time to avoid the next kick. Rolling on doorwings is always a pained challenge.

I'm back up and the Decepticon stills due to Jazz's safety protocol whenever a mech's body hits the ground. It's just enough to regroup or allow Jazz to call out advice. In his place my battle computer provides a plan but now there are several contingency plans included to adjust for the 0.09 klik lag time between me seeing new execution changes and then the extra 1.9 klik for me to physically readjust. Well, if it's going to "act" like this by giving me several upfront plans to address my insufficient capabilities perhaps _it_ would like to give this a try.

Immediately my battle computer supplies a plan about how it can use our integrated connection to heavily influence my processor and adjust my movements for me rather than have me do the same but with a two klik delay. It points out that if the two klik delay made a slight difference in a simulated one-on-one fight that existed for less than a breem, then additional considerations and compensations are in order to train for more serious situations.

That is an interesting proposal. The Decepticon is starting to slowly move again, its indicator that the safety delay protocol is ending. Alright battle computer, have it your way. Show me what you can do with my body.

The takeover sensation was strange, as if a liquid coolant flowed over my processor and then solidified as it melded with the connections inside my entire processor. The Decepticon moved quickly into a lunge but one arm back to grab or swing for me should I/we try moving out of its trajectory.

My legs dropped into a tight coiled crouch, my body tilted forward, my doorwings tucked into a streamline position, and my staff pulled up along the centerline of my body but tilted out. In a flash my body launched, striking the Decepticon hard in the shoulder and pulling the staff sideways to shove it off balance. My peds slide and my weight shifts to the front leg, allowing my body to twist the staff around and slam it into the Decepticon's back. It went down and the program stopped. The goal was achieved.

The sensation disappeared and I regained control without any issue. There was no struggle, just a nearly undetectable transition. The strangest piece wasn't my body readily answering to commands I didn't actively authorize but that it was easier than me acting as a middle mech of sorts. All of the movements were things I would have done but the fluidity and speed was amazing. The battle computer supplied me with a calculation of 6.03% increase in attack efficiency. How strange that number is approximately the same as the calculated efficiency loss when my spark is involved. In a way it's nearly a 12% positive increase. Those numbers and their relations are very interesting and I wonder what I can accurately deduce from the data.

An alert pops up reminding me that I need to recharge. That shouldn't be a problem anymore but my next recharge cycle will be shortened so I can try this again. It's a fascinating personal study about efficiencies with logic-based postulations.

 

|\/\/\/|

 

After a handful of private training sessions I found the results even more fascinating that I first postulated. It wasn't just because of the effects of giving it control. I also saw how a battle computer can operate if executed in the field instead of behind the lines. I wonder how it would handle a real close combat weapon, such as a long energy blade? First question is how to obtain one. My battle computer’s suggestion of how to approach Wheeljack was not something I considered fully acceptable. I knew Wheeljack would have emotional conflictions since he knows I’m compromised (by his definition) and my battle computer can only supply so much without the full grasp of emotion. My spark refuses to assist, turning silent when I try using its reaction to gain the upper hand in persuading others. My battle computer soon found another solution by ordering one from Cybertron, marking it as a priority training tool for the frontliners. The order included putting instructions to store it in one of my freight shipments so I could build training simulations after examining it, thus circumventing any probing at why a frontliner tool would be in my supplies, and preventing someone from finding it when doing intake inventory checking. I did my own inventory. Perhaps when I have it I can remove Jazz’s stick and put my table back together.

As for the personal relationships, Jazz and I slowed down to a glacial pace now that I did not require his assistance or felt the need for emotional support, save the times before I visited Medbay. Eventually I determined that it frustrated him but I did not give into his persistence. He didn’t demand any answers from me, only often reminding me that he was there if I wanted to talk. I still allow him to visit me during our breaks to avoid pushing him to the ends of his frustration and finding out what that looked like.

I pretended to give into my cousin-brothers concerns by updating them on the fake continual punishment from Ratchet over the monitor. I’m hoping to convince Ratchet of several changes during my upcoming post-shift checkup. He doesn’t have scheduled maintenance after the primary shift and I made sure to put his frequent visitors on split-shifts so they couldn't cause him problems during the primary or secondary shifts. They complained but their uninteresting words went unheeded.

“I’m here Ratchet,” I announced upon arriving for the post shift check-in.

“Yippee, my orn is suddenly brighter,” he blithely greeted me with a sarcastic flippant hand gesture.

I waited until we were once again standing in the private room before saying with a flat voice, “I take it no progress today?” I tried faking disappointment but my spark put up its usual whining protest again so I opted to avoid intonation completely.

“Nothing of effect that satisfies Perceptor or me. Let’s get this over with so I can drink some high-grade with Wheeljack to complain what a nuisance you’ve become. We wouldn’t be having this sensor failure problem if you told me vorns earlier.”

“Your continual thoughts of me give me hope.” And damn it, it did. Well, namely his words caused my spark’s energy to flourish with the light fluttering I associate with hope.

I carefully approach my intensions by first continuing to remark about his declaration. “Not to mention the strength you give me from your ‘bravery’ in telling the officer responsible for reprimands about your intentions with contraband, given that said officer hasn’t authorized its use. However, I have something more important to discuss with you so I’ll overlook that concern for now.” I widened my stance and gave Ratchet a square look. “I wish to discuss some changes with you regarding your approach to your plans for me.”

“Oh do tell, Commander Non-Medical Reprimander,” he replied sardonically.

“This monitor is garnering unnecessary attention. Since you still insist that I wear a monitor of sorts, I thought perhaps you could replace it with a discrete instrument that accomplishes your goal, preferably blending it with my paint job.” Stop complaining, spark. I can tell that it’s displeased by the shrinking sensation, followed by more small bursts from its protest. After Ratchet’s point of its growing energy with happiness I determined that its shrinking energy was a form of complaint, disappointment, or sadness (while anger-base emotions result in tightening its energy field). My involuntary responses also usually helped me decipher which one since disappointment and sadness had their own repeated responses. Unfortunately those involuntary responses were not immune to medically-induced spark silence. Neither was the processor ache waiting to rush in and take the place of the waning medical chip.

Ratchet’s optics narrowed and his mouth twitched while he contemplated my request. “I suppose that’s reasonable and less likely to cause someone asking me if our SIC is worse off than he’s letting on. I’m pretty sure I have a monitoring chip with a plain white plate cover, about the size of a minibot finger, that will notify me if you do anything I don’t want you doing. Should be in storage. It still makes sounds so it’s not entirely undetectable, but that’s only if you do something stupid.”

“A plain monitoring chip is acceptable. I also have one more request. You said that I could administer my own medication if the situation permits. Given that this is the third day that you’ve complained about a lack of progress, it may be of benefit if I continue the plateau'd progress on my own rather than interrupt your efforts.”

“I’ll consider it. I would enjoy a break from seeing your face every day and you’re starting to depress First Aid.”

More spark twists. I’m looking forward to that processor medication chip. “Why?”

“The lack of progress is getting to his caring side. You’d think working with me would’ve cut that down.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have involved him,” I point out while ignoring his last sentence.

“And have to chose between non-routine treatments and your messed up health?” he scoffed. “Perceptor and Wheeljack are both busy with Project Fix Prowl as well as their other projects. Fine, you can administer your own medications. If we have any progress someone here will give you those meds. While you’re doing your own meds you are to call Medbay’s comm. line and tell whichever of us that answers about any changes or not changes.”

Excellent. We get through the treatment with Ratchet explaining how to insert the needle from my reference point. Once I’ve succeeded he nods and excuses himself. “I’ll get you three days worth and go find that monitor chip.”

Ratchet moves out of sight, probably heading to his long-term storage area. I slip out, aware that my “accidental” excess medical order is keeping First Aid busy. Originally my plan called for doing this with First Aid because he’s not suspicious but he wouldn’t leave my side, so I gave him a reason to not be here. I move silently but quickly to Ratchet’s closet for rarely used tools. I search for his old tool to pry armor loose as well as tools for snaking wires out. Upon finding the best candidates for my plans I subspaced them. I barely slip back to my berth before Ratchet appears while the sadness in my spark becomes muted. I fight my involuntary frown and doorwing slight droop sothe suspicious medic can't observe any of them and demand answers.

“Sit still while I change these out. Swapping the monitors out means the wires need to be disconnected at the monitor’s interface, so that’ll be a chore,” he begrudges the effort. After a few breems he attaches the chip to my upper arm. He threatens, “Don’t think I won’t know if you try something or if you get worse.”

“Understood. I shall leave you to your ‘mid-grade’ as a thank you for changing those out.” I left and headed straight to my quarters, ignoring the need for a second ration of energon. I locked my door and the second lock I added to avoid any hackers. It’s a simple locking pin that prevents the door from moving. Back when I allowed my spark partial influence on my terms it always rejected the idea of extra efforts of shutting others out. I permitted it because I was the one making the choice to work with my spark. Now things are differently and I adjust as needed to keep some resemblance of control.

“Time to be free of pain,” I whisper aloud. With the medical chip fully effective I cautiously pry loose my armor that covered my chassis to the right side of my spark chamber. Perceptor’s medication effectively stops all pain from registering in my processor, including that which would otherwise require medical stasis. Despite the uncontrolled tremors I prevail by prying those pieces only enough that my under carriage mirror will see it. I can later reset the armor easily.

When Ratchet installed the new detection chip I watched him carefully to make sure I knew which wire was its power source. While he worked I noticed him place an alarm node over the wire’s attachment at the chip, likely to inform him if I tried disconnecting and offlining the chip directly. Checking the wires by color codes found the wire attached to my neuro-net for electricity, rather than an actual spark sensor. That end didn’t have an alarm node. Using my mirror and the wire snake I detached that first. My lack of surgical skills nicked my neuro-net but not significantly. I felt the involuntary violent flinch at the nick but luckily I did not cause additional harm.

I used the armor pry’s reattachment tooling piece to reset my armor and then I subspaced the tools again. After half a joor of waiting to see if Ratchet detected the power loss my battle computer calculated the risk of Ratchet’s appearance. It is 3.72% likely that it sent a transmission, but in that case it’s also highly probable Ratchet missed the transmission due to his recreational choice. That’s acceptable by the battle computer's stastical confidence interval.

It’s time to finish my plan. I pry the armor that covers the intruding wires, focusing on minimal efforts. I memorize the path in the event I’m forced to return the intruders. Memorization complete, I use the wire snake and mirror to slowly remove each sensor wire. When the last wire was gone I turned off all spark sensors.

I’m leaving the power source attached in case Ratchet checks but since it’s only a change detector it shouldn’t be an issue. I hide the freed wires in a drawer rather than have the intruders hover by me in my subspace. I reconnect the power wire very carefully and then put the armor back. Both tools are tucked into my subspace in case I can put them back in Medbay to avoid the 2.68% chance that a medic will need them.

For a moment I revel in the knowledge that even when the medication fails I’ll be free of the emotions and pain I didn’t want. I’ll be free of the processor aches.

Once I controlled my emotional experiences, and so long as I had that control I didn’t mind the small struggles. That was taken from me so now I’m taking it completely back. Right now I’m choosing to be free of the accompanying problems I recently discovered and suffered.

I’m 96.54% confident that my battle computer and logic-driven processor will be able to find an effective approach to virtually all situations I cross. Now happiness can’t hurt me anymore.

 

|\/\/\/|

 

Almost four deca-orns passed while I lied to the medical team about the effectiveness of the medication. At one point they had to cease their efforts due to a battle that left a handful of Autobots missing armor, but my battle computer did save them from existing as actual scraps of armor. When the team started back up I told them their efforts were slowly progressing. It keeps them from becoming completely frustrated and doing something more drastic. They allow me to keep doing the treatment on my own, which I do in case they decide to involve themselves before it’d run out. It doesn’t change anything for me.

I rely almost exclusively on my battle computer and the logic center melded in my processor. Reading and playing chest lost some of their thrill after a while because my battle computer found both activities too passive in nature. Rather when I’m alone I continue using the officers' training area to practice close combat at my discretion with my new energy blade. I'm giving the battle computer the freedom to physically act out its calculations as a soldier instead of me issuing orders to the holographic soldier simulations on its behalf. I never realized how much I held it back. The blade was almost a set back as well since it was a mere training tool; a glamorized physical sword with a searing energy field along the blade. A well-placed strike would hurt tremendously but never kill and unlikely even maim.

After applying the useless medication upon onlining from a short recharge, now mandatory since I train while the other same-shift officers recharge, I start my shift. I’m barely two steps in my office when my doorwings pick up a presence in the far corner. “Hello, Jazz. What are you doing here this early?” I inquire as I glide to my chair. “Shouldn’t you be engaging the forces to determine the morale?”

He steps out from his cornered leaning position and sits in a chair. “Thought I’d catch you early.”

“I presume you mean early for you rather than me. To what purpose?”

“To the purpose I’m concerned about you.” I raise my optic ridge, motioning him to continue. “According to sources, I hear you aren’t doing so well in the progress of getting back your full self.”

My full self? ‘You mean my hindered self,’ I silently correct while sitting down. “I appreciate the concern but there is nothing you can do so burdening yourself with concerns will not be of any use.”

“Burdening myself?!” he snaps and leans into my desk. “I am not burdening myself. I am caring about a friend in dire need, even if he refuses to acknowledge it. Either you want this and it’s failing you, or you don’t want it like you told me deca-orns ago but you haven’t told them. Neither one of those is okay.”

“My situation is hardly dire. Being on the verge of total annihilation, Decepticon rule, or permanently offlining are dire. I am merely apathetic to the situation and the perceptions others have about me.”

His facial expressions fluctuate with small smiles and frowns before settling on neutral, save some tightness in his lips. “How can you be apathetic to the situation? Do you include me in your apathy to the ‘perceptions’ and cares of others? Is that why you haven't said anything more to me?”

“If I were apathetic to you I wouldn’t partake in non-work conversations, such as now. I haven't said anything because I am observing changes at this point. Gathering data. All of that said, however, if this is all you came for I’d appreciate you allowing me to start my shift. I will see you during our ‘lunch’ break, as you call it.” I folded my hands on my desk to impress upon him the professionalism.

“Uh, no. That’s not all.” He carefully sits down and tentatively reaches across the desk to place his hand over mine, ignoring my professionalism attempt. “I also wanted to talk to you about how things going on between you and your brothers. Smokescreen and I had a few offhand chats. I know you haven’t told them, and while I don’t agree with the decision I will respect it. That means you can’t talk about your thoughts regarding what could happen between them and you.

“Let’s say you do want Ratchet’s help, maybe you just aren’t comfortable bring up for your own reasons. What are you going to do about your brothers? Will you explain the surgery? How will you explain your post-surgery changes? Things are going to be different no matter what.”

“I hadn’t thought that far, truthfully.” My battle computer’s primary focus is how to drag everything out until it loses priority on their list of urgent projects. I do not approve of a project called “Project Fix Prowl.” All other plans are still being worked whenever my battle computer has idle time.

“Why not?”

“What would I say? Smokescreen may handle the news acceptably but Bluestreak would not. He has no knowledge of anything, and this requires knowledge of almost everything. I don’t want Blue to know anything more painful then he’s already lived through.” I knew that as a certainty. At times when I was younger and still getting use to Bluestreak’s personality I wanted to push him away. I could never bring myself to actually say that to those hopeful optics. Memories of those times started flowing but I disrupted them before they could make any impact.

Jazz chewed the bottom of his lip. “Maybe tell Smokey and seek his advice how to tell Blue? They’d support you no matter what.”

True, but if they knew that I wanted no part in this I think they’d be very sad. Blue especially so.

“You okay?”

“Sorry?” I ask.

“You twitched your doorwings downward and you looked troubled. Sometimes you act differently than what you feel, though, so I thought I’d just ask.”

“I’m merely thinking about how Blue would react. I don’t think Smokescreen can provide anything more effective than I can, but I can ask him when it’s time.”

“But you don’t know when it’s time,” he pointed out.

“Very true. Thank you for your consideration, Jazz,” I kindly thank while pulling my hands free. “If you truly wish to continue speaking about the matter, then let’s put it off for later.” Doing so will allow my battle computer to come up with a suitable distraction.

“Alright. See you later.”

I get through the first half of my shift, followed by Jazz’s and my successfully-uneventful break, and then restarted my shift. Almost a quarter of it left I received a comm. ping. ::Yes, Ratchet?::

::Come down to Medbay as soon as you’re free.::

::Why? Is there a new treatment?::

::Yes and more. Wheeljack has finally come up with a solution for the time being. I’m still working on my main plan but this should make things better than what you’re going through now.::

I sincerely doubt that. ::Don’t leave me in suspense.::

::He’s built three sensors that should be similar to the way your custom sensors were before they started failing, back when they were fresh off your friend’s workbench. We finished our tests and everything comes out perfectly. Took awhile to figure out how to test them but Perceptor got it. I expect you down here at the end of your shift so I can replace them. AND Perceptor is satisfied with his medical cocktail after compiling way too much of your reported data into really complex equations and codes. I dare say he’s even smug about it.::

Immediately my battle computer starts processing the information as fast as it can, throwing out simulated risks and scenarios while looking for solutions. The speed and rapid output feels like panic. It finds only one solution with acceptable odds of success. ::I must work two joors past my shift to finalize scheduling issues that several mechs brought up after an intense argument, evidently.::

Ratchet growled a muttered curse. ::Fine, then I expect you two joors and five breems past the primary shift.::

::I will see you then.::

I force my battle computer to slow its calculations until it returns to its normal state as we wait out the shift end. I hastily leave to avoid running into Jazz, Prime, or anyone else coming off the same shift. I make it to my quarters and lock it twice before heading to my drawer. Luckily I never got rid of the tools. Unpleasant as it is for me, I must rewire these to the individual sensors. It’ll be cumbersome to attach all with my untrained medical efforts but it's that or be caught.

After 1.24 accumulated joors of disconnecting the power wire (and nicking the neuro-net again) and slowly performing the efforts backwards based on my memorization files, I triple check all attached sensor wires. I don’t know what will happen when I turn back on the sensors. The medication is theoretically still in my system but that’s a theory based on deca-orns of lies. After cycling all of my vents a few times I turn on the sensors.

Immediately I fall forward as my spark overwhelms me from being heard again. The pain is intense, emotions endlessly flowing and flooding my processor like multiple faucet failures, with the filters having absolutely no effective.

The emotions… I can’t grasp them all. They are flying through my processor and it causes a processor ache in record time. My chest burns from the sensors heating up from the wildly flaring energy, the cooling blanket ineffective against the rapid temperature rise. I can’t do this; I have to turn them off!

But I can’t! Not with Ratchet waiting for me. If I don’t make it for now, I won’t be able to remove it later because he’ll know. I focus hard on my hands to keep them shaking so I can finish but the tremors won’t completely cease. I stumble the short distance to my empty far corner where there’s a cooling vent so I can curl up in the corner and allow the vented force air to blow over my chassis and frame. My intake vents work at maximum power to draw the cold air into my frame until everything becomes cold, inside and out. The freezing sensation not only allows my circulation system to cool even my overheating processor but it becomes a welcome distraction.

Everything begins to calm down until I have enough mind to check my internal chronometer. I have less than 0.3 joors to make to Ratchet before he becomes mad or suspicious. At least my hands stopped shaking, although they’re a little stiff from the cooled plating. It’s enough control to let me finish by attaching the power wire and pressing my armor back into place.

I stand up, my knees start quivering despite the stiff hip struts. I push forward from the wall, focusing all my strength on walking and controlling my body to not give away my sudden bodily control issues.

I almost keel over as I see the Medbay doors, my efforts more taxing than I expected and draining my energy fast. It takes everything I have to press on through and greet Ratchet as if everything is the same since my pre-shift check-in comm. “You look pleased.”

He wears his own smug smile and crossed arms, one hand’s fingers moving with a slow and deliberate tap. “Finally some real success. Plus I’ve got the materials I need pinned down on Cybertron to build my processor tools. With Prime’s signature and his high-priority stamp, I dare say I’ll have everything here within the deca-orn; maybe within half a deca-orn.”

No, no, no. There will be pain, I know it. How would it last once the connection is permanent? My spark is reacting but I can’t read the meanings anymore. Too much input, I can’t sort it out. I almost grit out, “I will be very interested in your progress. Keep me up to date when I comm. you the details of my daily pre- and post-shift debriefs.”

“Oh no, you’ll be in here for those from now until Wheeljack has built the tools. I’ll be checking these new sensors and medication to make sure everything is exactly what we plan, including the sensors being accepted by your body.”

“Intriguing,” is all I can come up with as a response to Ratchet’s idea of good news.

“It’s beyond intriguing, you underplaying fragger. Now let’s get you into my Prowl room.” He practically pushes me into the area he dubbed my room since I’m its biggest repeat visitor, clearly excited about it being close to the end of his frustration. It’s close to the beginning of a life in the Pit for me. He wastes no time putting me in stasis.


	5. Prowl's POV: Losing the Upper Hand

Uncertainty. That's the first thing I detect before any external systems come online. Then panic with an undefined source. Spark? Processor? Both? I can feel the filtering codes taking the edge off of the panic but none-the-less it's still there.

When my audios finally turn on I hear Ratchet's mock-teasing, "Earth to Prowl: turn on your optics."

'I am taking this one step at a time, medic,' I snip back internally. My optics online and Ratchet's form is leaning over me. My spark responds with quick, happy flutters while at the exact same moment my battle computer labels him a potential enemy. The conflicting response backlashes and my spark shrinks and freezes in recoil at the concept of Ratchet being anything less than a friend or even just a source of support. The battle computer starts bombarding my processor with proof of its claim so I might be the media connection for it to show my spark why the spark wrong.

"Oh Prowl?" Ratchet lazily calls while waving his hand in my face, forcing my thinly stretched attention back to him. "Report. Now. I haven't got all secondary shift to watch you. I got plans, fun ones at that."

"I can feel my spark more. Did you remove the cooling blanket?"

"Yes. With those three replaced you should have little problem with overheating. Maybe not zero but you'll need to come here if that's the case. We can't gauge the full effect of replacing them if I didn't remove that heat buffer."

"Then so far there's no unpleasant heat." A part of me wishes I could lie and pretend the sensors are already having problems, but with my spark capable of affecting me _even more_ I can't bring myself to do it yet.

"Good. Now I'm going to celebrate with Wheeljack and maybe even the rare-drinker Perceptor that this Pit-cursed problem is almost fix. Get going, you've got visitors outside."

"Who?"

"Your brothers and Jazz. Go. Blue's been chatty about his concern on why you're in Medbay _all over again_ and I figure you can answer because I don't know what you've been telling him."

"I appreciate you not involving yourself." My joints feel weak while moving upright so my hold lingers on the berth to keep steady before Ratchet notices. I'm not entirely successful but he's mentally already out of the room, pre-living his plans. "I'll see you later, Ratchet."

"No, you'll be seeing First Aid. Aside from giving that sensitive, caring medic a perk, I will be drinking plenty of high-grade – approved by Optimus – because it's my shift-rotation off as of three joors ago." He pushes me out the door. The literally pushy mech sidesteps around me when we clear the door and heads straight to his office.

I make my way to the make-shift waiting area, a former closet off to the side of the Medbay's doors, installed by Hoist after Ratchet complained for the umpteenth time about anxious visitors filling up his Medbay or cluttering the hallway. Bluestreak and Smokescreen are quietly chatting with each other while Jazz's smile show he's lost with sounds and images only he hears and sees from his held datapad.

Bluestreak's anxious glances see me first. "Prowl!" He leaps up and hugs me before I can lock my knees to stand straight. My spark hums softly while radiating a peaceful warm at the contact. "You said you'd keep us updated on what's going on with you but here you are again in Medbay. Why are you practically a permanent residence of Ratchet's corner of the _Ark_?"

Smokescreen stands up and moves behind Bluestreak, gently prying him off of me. Jazz doesn't stand but readjusts himself so he's wholly listening, setting down the datapad. I can see a paused video of Earth primate animals and balloons.

My spark dims when Bluestreak's hug ends. This… this is going to be difficult to adjust to and I can't imagine what it will be like once Ratchet wholly gets his way. Smokescreen pulls Bluestreak to the side but his hands linger on our youngest brother's shoulder. "Well?" he questions as his hand slowly slips back to his side.

"I will be fine. A few sensitive sensors needed replacement to operate at optimum levels."

"Where?!" Blustreak asks. "Don't tell me you're still having processor issues from that fight. It was way too long ago to keep harming you."

"Evidently Ratchet's punishment," I pause suddenly as my spark negatively reacts at the return of my continual lie but I push through, "was not as much punishment as he led me to believe." Need to stop lying right now. "He simply lacked the materials for installing replacements and he wanted to make sure nothing shut off or overheated without his knowledge."

I glance at Jazzand I see his lips press tight as he breaks optic contact for a moment before return his gaze steadily in my direction. After a klik the expression fades from his face and he nods, silently promising to continue respecting my personal decisions.

"Oh," Bluestreak replied sympathetically. "So you're all better now?"

'No, I'm worse than ever before.' My spark practically snaps with anger at that thought. "I believe that's the case," I quietly answer, uncertain how to address the upcoming surgery Ratchet's planning. My battle computer starts formulating plan but my spark fights it. The clash over building more lies suddenly causes a flinch as if the internal fight took a momentary physical turn.

All three of them caught that and collectively asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, just a post surgery lingering effect."

Jazz shoots up and corrals my brothers. "Okay you two. Optimus wants an update from Prowl so let's not keep the Big Guy waiting."

Smokescreen reluctantly accepts the dismissal with a nod. "Come on Blue, let's go to the Rec Room. Perhaps Prowl can join us when he's done? Surgery does require additional refueling afterwards."

"I will see."

Bluestreak starts resisting. "But Prowl –"

He doesn't get any further before Smokescreen tugs on his shoulder. I think he privately comm.'d Bluestreak something because Bluestreak stopped and slowly nodded. "Okay, Prowl. Hope to see you soon." With that my brothers left - as Smokescreen shot Jazz a strange piercing look. Something to ask about later.

Jazz waited until asking me with his usual candor, "So you want to tell me how it really went?"

"Not in an area with minimal access limitation regulations in place."

"Fair enough. Let's go to Prime's office and you can update both of us."

We silently walk to Prime's office, Jazz relaxed posture suggesting it's a comfortable silence but it's distressing to me. So far he's respected me throughout this ordeal; should I confide in him that it feel like a fresh wound that won't stop moving around, making the oozing sense of discomfort hard to pin down? I do feel a little dizzy. "Jazz, can we stop for a moment? I need to regain my bearings but I also want to talk to you without the addition of an audience."

He slows to a stop. "Yeah? Do you want to talk here or your office? I can ask Prime to wait a little longer."

"My office." The private familiarity should help.

"You got it." Jazz sends Prime a message and after my door closes Jazz explains the returned reply. "Prime says we have a couple of breems to talk but he wants to hear everything anyways so this side conversation might just be a repeat."

"I'd rather say this only to you."

"Okay?" Jazz looked around. "Do you want to sit?" He pulled out one of my two visitor chairs and faces it to me.

"I can use my own chair."

"Just sit." He commands while motioning to the chair like he's going to push me down. I do as asked and he flips the other chair around so we're facing each other, our knees almost touching. "Whenever you're ready."

Another cycling of vents so my focus shifts to the external feeling of forced air and not the brief nausea. Since leaving my shift I don't think my fans have ever worked this hard in such a short span. "I'm not taking to Ratchet's changes so well."

"I thought he and his team did everything based on what you said."

"They did but, well, I, uh... I didn't give them completely accurate data."

I waited for him to speak and just as the nausea starts to return he finally does with obvious deliberation. "I'm glad you're telling me instead of keeping that to yourself, but can you tell me why you didn't tell them?"

"I didn't like the way they treated it, both emotionally and intellectually." My hands clasp the chair tightly. 'Cycle vents again and pay attention to Jazz instead,' I order myself. The conflict is growing louder in my processor. "Ratchet kept calling it 'Project Fix Prowl.' I know others see me as broken but I never saw myself as broken, just limited, and only in one to two areas. I pushed my limits because I wanted to. I wasn't fixing myself, I was becoming better. Do you understand? Do you see me as broken?" the last part slips out, much like my spark's emotions slip through my processor with all this internal background noise.

"No, never," he strongly reassures and reaches out to rub my knee and softly pinch it before leaning back. It's an odd feeling but a pleasant tingling. The noise in my processor between my spark and battle computer grows a little more. "I understand. Probably not perfectly but I think enough for right now. What's wrong with the data you gave them?"

At least he didn't accuse me of lying. He would've been right but it's nice to not be accused. "I implied the efforts to keep the processor ache at bay were not entirely effective when they were actually overly effective. Up until the chips were depleted, burned out, or not strong enough to withstand my own safeguards. While the filters were effective things such as 'Project Fix Prowl' didn't mean anything. Now I don't know what to make of the new effects."

"That sucks. Maybe this is a dumb suggestion, but recharge on it and see if it settles while you're out? You'll see Ratchet's team when you online and if it's a problem you could say something about it then. Like you gave it time but it needs some final tweaking. Besides, by then Ratchet'll be hung over, and Perceptor and Wheeljack will be feeling the effects of drinking with a goading Ratchet. No one's gonna give you slag about anything."

If I do that then re-performing surgery on myself is out. Then again, the decision to carry out a secret operation is what got me here; yet I don't like how they conspire to 'fix' me. But then there's that other planned surgery... "I will recharge on it. I have too much on my mind right now."

"Not to mention you'd be interrupting Ratchet's drinking and that's definitely worse than a long recharge!"

"Indeed."

Prime pings us both so we make our way to his nearby office. Jazz's laid back smile returns and I greet Prime. "How is the late shift?"

"Not unpleasant. The twins think they snuck off base after their shift end so I expect limited issues until they're back," Prime light joked, probably trying to keep the atmosphere from weighing heavily on me. Jazz and I take our seats.

I inquire, "What recent information are you aware of, Prime?"

"The latest run down I have is that Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Perceptor are finally able to see the solution they wanted. It will take a little while to build the tools, get Perceptor's sign off, and have Ratchet test it with a processor model resembling yours. At this time, though, they changed the three most problematic sensors in case those plans took longer than a deca-orn so you don't have to suffer. They noticed the cooling blanket was becoming less effective the longer it was exposed to those three."

Strange that they never commented on the lack of communication from me about the issue. Did they know I was lying? Improbable. Then what? "That largely sums up the situation. The new sensors are currently working without error and Ratchet is drinking."

Prime chuckles and then responds, "Yes, Ratchet asked for the shift-rotation off to celebrate his victory. I authorized a 'light' celebration of his achievement but I doubt anyone will actually use 'light' to describe it."

Jazz sniggers. "How about light-helmed when the high-grade wears off?"

I force a small smile. Those three and Prime don't understand and I don't know how to make them understand. As if the Matrix could sense my thoughts Prime asks, "How are you feeling otherwise?"

I honestly don't know beyond "conflicted" and "in pain." Lying is out (thanks, spark) but so is the truth until I can find away to make them understand without them reverting back to a "fix Prowl" mentality.

Jazz quickly supplies an answer. "Actually, not that Prowl is going to fess up to this, Prime, but he did mention offhand that the surgery made him very tired and under-fueled. If I can grab him a cube from the Rec Room so he doesn't get overwhelmed from the noisy activities, I can meet him at his quarters so he can refuel and rest."

Thank Primus for Jazz. Undoubtedly he's unhappy about lying to our friend and Commander but he spoke with an unwavering tone.

Prime considered Jazz's words before nodding. "Prowl, I want you to also take leave and adjust without the stress of datapads and whatever the twins are doing."

"Thank you, Prime." I stand up and leave with a gracious nod, Jazz on my heels. After we're clear of the command deck hallway I quietly thank him. "I appreciate your help back there."

"I'm always here to help, so long as you don't push me away," he cheerfully answered, playfully bumping into me.

"That is beyond considerate of you," a smile breaks free before I can stop it. I'm happy again, aren't I? Will the problem return? Will the other sensors with faults cause me pain? Ratchet only replaced the worse three.

"Nah, it's what friends are for." I can hear something in his voice but I can't quite determine its intent. Is it wanting, like he desires something beyond his words? My spark's energy grows with the postulated question and swirls lively.

This is too much. I keep quiet and murmur non-committal sounds as Jazz talks about things I'm not focused on, stopping only when we reach the hallway fork between quarters and the Rec Room. He cheerfully says, "See you soon." He disappears and I hastily return to my control space. I'll need as much time as I can get to calm down before he returns.

I sat down and drop my helm into my hands, focusing on the cool touch instead of the growing processor ache. Just inhale and exhale through my vents. Quiet, physical. Not emotional. Nothing to cause a spark response. No plans. No filtering required.

Ten breems later Jazz chimes my door and I answer with caution, knowing some sort of reaction will inevitable occur. Jazz is there with a smile but the corners of his mouth are tight. He hands me the energon cube. "How's it going since I gave you a few extra breems?"

"Okay. I think if I recharge alone I will handle this better."

"Oh." His smile wavers until he stops it with pursed lips. "Let me know when you're up. If you're hurting maybe I could give you a massage or something. I can be quiet, saboteur's honor."

"How is that honor?"

"Well, okay, saboteur's skill but that has less of a ring to it."

Another spontaneous small smile from me and a spark hum. "Thank you, Jazz. I will see you later."

"Good recharge!" he brightly smiles back as my door closes. I drink the cube and leave it on my table before heading to my berth. I power down or off all non-vital systems with minimal complications, save those inside my helm busy playing with thoughts of Jazz. The filters may be taking the edge off of a desire to run out and grab him, but they aren't blocking out the churning consuming memories from when he laid in my berth. I need to get away from my quarters so the memories stop playing on repeat, least before my body and spark respond to those memory replays like school mechlings fantasizing over a first major crush.

I make it outside without the few Autobots I pass adding to my problems. There are several more outside, though, enjoying the nightly sky with the half moon and patches of moving wispy clouds. Perhaps I should find a secure location well beyond where Autobots might venture. I've never searched for a private area beyond the outskirts of the _Ark's_ main territory. Maybe I can borrow one.

As I finalize my options from a list of known secure locations I'm pinged by Red Alert. ::Red Alert,:: I acknowledge.

::What are you doing outside? Prime put you off-duty for medical reasons; Ratchet just signed off his concurrence with a note that says 'that mech better get some recharge.'::

::Did it really say that?::

::Yes, although I'm substituting 'mech' for another word, and dropping another right before 'recharge'. Now what are you doing outside?::

I can't decide if I'm annoyed from his intrusive checking or touched by his care. This is half the reason I don't want friends. My spark has a slight flutter in response to his questions anyway. My battle computer provides me a quick response. ::I received a tip that the twins are using one of their hiding location.:: Another lie and the resulting sudden spark pain are quickly becoming the new normal. ::I am investigating to head it off before it becomes a problem.::

::Have someone else do it. We can't risk having you compromised. I don't know why you're on medical leave but Prime doesn't risk stepping on Ratchet's peds by sighting 'medical reasons' without reason.::

::They are jumping to hasty conclusions. I won't recharge knowing that the troublesome twin duo may be up to something before another officer can head them off.::

Red Alert muttered his annoyance for the twins and security risks. ::Which location?::

I provide him the coordinates to one of the older hideouts the twins abandoned after a particularly messy prank gone wrong. The location was hot pink for the longest time and too unstable for further uses. It was only twenty deca-orns ago it was declared safe and pink-free, which I told the twins we'll be keeping an optic on it.

It takes about three-quarters of a joor to drive there at the official _Ark_ speed limit. The location is a particularly effective hiding area that we wouldn't have found if it didn't turn a bright unnatural color. It requires climbing up a steep rocky mudslide, hardened in some areas while very slick in others. It's almost as tall as Omega Supreme. There's only one pathway up; it's barely stable and it brings a mech to the back edge of the top plateau. It's only a three breem walk to the actual cave from there. The outer desert-colored rocks camouflage the cave from view while its inner sides are quite cool and dark. I entered the cave without bothering to increase my night vision, entering only far enough so my white paint cannot be observed by moonlight's shine.

I sit down against a wall but slowed down when my doorwing brushed up against something metal. I reached out and felt a short, wide box. Either we missed something or the twins didn't believe me about us watching the hideout.

I tuck my limbs in, pull my doorwings in tight, and put my helm on my knees to minimize as much external output as I can like I did in my quarter's corner. With the other exposed external sensors I focus on the cool temperatures, the rough texture of the rocks, and the short, light gusts of whistling wind. Focus on the physical, the unemotionally attached.

Slowly my spark settles from the lack of excitement. Keep focusing on the dipping temperatures and the loose rocks under my ped. I initiate a command to my battle computer to determine the weather projections based on the season and the changes since I left the _Ark_. Physical, logical, tactical-simulation without hindrance. Bring down the noise streaming through the filters and lessen the processor ache; lessen the input mudding up my ability to think.

In hindsight I should've thought it through on what the presumed-contraband box was doing here after Prime mentioned that the twins were out. I was there for nearly a joor when I heard it.

"Okay, we'll grab it and then go," a voice blending into the wind unknowinglyfinds my audios.

"You sure? I mean, we got so much stuff to carry and then some of those boxes aren't small and while you two are strong there's still more than - "

"Blue! Do you not understand the point of working under the cover of night?" I barely register Sideswipe and Bluestreak. I vaguely realize that Bluesteak's use of "you two" means Sunstreaker is there as well. I need to move and hide but my joints are almost locked into place. Maybe my sluggish processor only registers them locked into place.

"Prowl?" I hear a very startled Sideswipe sputter.

"Prowl? Prowl!" Bluestreak utters and I hear something clatter from falling. A presence drops itself by my exposed side. "Why are you here? Why are you sitting like that?" He tries gently tugging an arm free. His alarmed and pained words cause my spark to sing painfully, calling out to soothe him, and instantly all of my progress begins unwinding.

"Blue," Sunstreaker interrupts. I hear them exchange hushed words but I can't concentrate on voices that low. The new input isn't helping my efforts.

"Please leave," is all I muffle out from my arms. I was going to finish with, "and immediately bring Ratchet here," so he might do something about the failing filters but Bluestreak's scared squawk interrupted my slow words.

"Prowl! Are you hurt? Please talk to me."

I really can't keep doing this anymore. There's one immediate solution and it'll get Ratchet here anyways. It's not like I can keep hiding or misleading him for much longer. I turn off all of the spark sensors. Swiftly the growing rate of processor pain and excessive noise halts.

Bluestreak's ramblings stop for a moment. "Did you guys just hear a beep?"

I move upward against the wall at a gawky pace while avoiding my doorwings. I can see a pair of worried and suspicious twins, and one very distressed Praxian. Sunstreaker is next to Bluestreak but Sideswipe is standing about two arm lengths away. The red mech looks the most suspicious but he remains silent. He's studying me.

I reply with a thick voice, my vocalizer feeling stiff. "I will be alright, Bluestreak. It was only momentary. We will talk about your plans in the morning." I try standing free of support but my joints are too stiff so I disguise it by rotating around. A quick check between the twins says they aren't buying it. Bluestreak is giving a very wordy defense about having fun and that it wouldn't hurt anyone.

Sideswipe interrupts the gunner this time. "Sunny, take Blue to get some energon. I'll chat with Prowl."

Bluestreak protests but Sunstreaker almost drags him out after dropping his box. Sunstreaker is watching me suspiciously and glancing between me and Sideswipe. They're using their bond to talk about me. My battle computer supplies possible discussions.

Sideswipe and I lock gazes, his guarded and mine dispassionate, until after the last noise of the gravel crunching under the other pair's peds disappear. I ask the first question. "What's in the box?"

"What, this?" He rotates the box in his hands around. "It's a tissue box."

"A tissue box," I echoed with some condescension.

"Yeah. For Ratchet 'cuz he's got that soft spark." He drops the box that's clearly containing something heavier than tissues. "My turn. Why are you here? And don't say to catch us because you were not in your 'gotcha!' pose. The one you do when you get the jump on us."

"I do not have a pose of such nature."

"Take it from a mech that's been at your sweet lectures plenty, you have poses. What's going on with you? Blue's motor mouth said plenty about you over the deca-orns. And before that plenty of mechs said plenty more. Last I heard from Blue right before we left for Ratchet's tissues was 'something something processor something something needs to refuel.' I know there's no energon dispenser out here so either it's processor-related or you're hiding something. Scrap that, you are _so_ hiding something no matter what it's related to."

"I received a tip to investigate and I came out here."

He scoffs and knocks a tiny wind-blown pebble out of the air before it could hit his arm. The winds aren't moving faster but they are getting colder. "Try again."

"You don't believe anyone would report you."

"Not anyone who knows about my tissue boxes."

"So you have accomplices."

"Maybe, just like you maybe have something wrong." He leers with self-satisfaction.

I think I can move fine now but I can't exactly start testing my ability to walk without him taking it as a sign of nervousness. "Besides the tip I wanted to get away from a drinking Ratchet. He's drinking in celebration of my successful surgery. I thought it might lead to strange conversation."

"Yeah, I could see that. If your story was the first time he drank due to successful surgeries and I didn't know what he's like when he's off doing his happy drinking game."

"Do you believe I'm telling you a false story?" I challenge with a monotone voice, putting him on the defensive without sounding like I'm defending myself.

"It hurts me that you'd think I'd accuse an officer of doing anything that doesn't honor his role or position." Sideswipe answered with his best fake-hurt facial expression accompanied by a slow swinging arm and a pitiful shoulder shrug. "I think you're underestimating me as a simpleton for a frontliner. I'm hurt you'd oversimplify whatever is ailing a member of leadership because you can't respectfully and truthfully talk to us. I thought we were like family since we're so small compared to the usual numbers inhabiting Autobot bases. You and Prime are like our creators, Ratchet and Ironhide the crazy uncles. Really, I'm the one who needs my spirit lifted by my mommy's honest answers to show me he cares about me."

He's gotten more underhanded since spending time around humans. "You did not call me mommy."

"'Mommy' sounds better than 'creator' or 'sire.' 'Mommy Prowl' even has a ring to it. Maybe you'll let me, one of your few precious soldier creations, know what's wrong? Otherwise I might just take my distraught self back to base and tell everyone that Mommy Prowl is making me sad."

I narrow my optics until they are beady lines and I can pretend they fire lasers. "Your skills for real-time manipulation and blackmail are outstanding."

"You wound me with more accusations, Mommy Prowl." He opens his mouth to continue but stops and closes it. He turns his head back toward the _Ark_ 's direction.

Finally, I can check my mobility without risking his speculation. Some point during our banter, followed by Sideswipe's well-conceived idea of extortion, my leftover processor pain evaporated. I should privately reconsider my plans regarding Ratchet. I spied on my immediate obstacle, Sideswipe, who's face is somewhat turned back in my direction enough that I can see the distant look in his countenance. He's likely listening very intently to his bond. Time to slip by before he reengages back here.

"No you don't," his hand shoots out and blocks me. "Sunny says Ratchet is having conniptions and getting his stuff while trying to walk sober. Jazz is nearby talking to Red Alert even as he remotely accesses Teletraan, and Prime is waiting on our caring, albeit formerly drunk, CMO. Evidently he's cursing your name with very colorful images of what he's going to do to you. Supposedly hating you is making him sober."

"Let Sunstreaker know that you just told me he broke Prime's speed limit getting back to base. I will see Ratchet in a few joors."

"No way," Sideswipe stepped closer. I step back and my heel crushes sharp stones. The boxes he, Sunstreaker, and Bluestreak left are blocking what remained of the entrance, there's a wall against my back, there's no second exit point, and Sideswipe is blocking the one remaining clear path. He smirks and mischievously declares, "For the first time I'm the one who's going to hold you in place for getting in trouble." His smirk flourishes into a mad grin and he actuates his point with "you" by poking me in the chest.

A strange burst of pain through my neuro-net causes a weird strangled noise from me. I'm stuck with the taller fighter and he's pushing me around. "Sideswipe, I am ordering you to stand aside."

"No way. I knew you disobeyed a medical order and I'm here to enforce it. That exceeds your orders."

"You don't even know what the order is."

"Hey, you've been telling me since forever to be able to understand leadership's needs. Well, I'm hearing leadership's demands but it just so happens that our number one leader supports Ratchet's side in whatever argument going's on between you two."

Clearly I'm headed straight towards the situation's edge of losing control, but I can't argue logic with the gloating trickster. I won't ask for him to understand or assist, either. Rather, the only other presence here that understands me and can assist is my battle computer. A request for help returns a suggested resolution stemmed on the basis of me giving it control. The suggestion is to speak to the warrior using his language; something a battle computer understands more than a logic-driven officer. I've never allowed it control like this around others, but if it solves even a sizeable portion of my growing list of problems, then it's an acceptable risk. I "hand" it control and it accepts with the cooling melding sensation taking over my processor.

_Crack!_

Suddenly my finger sting and there's no Sideswipe in my vision. I look down and there he is, sprawled on the ground. He's rubbing his check and staring back flabbergasted. Did I just punch him? Was that what my battle computer thought was a solution? Dread dawned on me along with full realization what exactly I've done; I'm allowing a _battle_ computerto solve problems involving a warrior, blackmail, a cage, and the undesired impending arrival of several agitated mechs Pit-bent on making me submit to their demands. Sideswipe's behavior while trapping me literally triggered it's criteria for "fight or flight" and flight wasn't available. I demand the battle computer return control but its need to solve the "potentially dangerous" situation is powerful and consuming. I've indulged it too much and now we're in a precariously imbalanced state. My engine is revving hungrily from striking the warrior - a reaction with my body that I personally don't take as an optimal change in the altercation.

With what moderate control I tersely regain I speak louder than my engine to disengage the physical confrontation. "Sideswipe, I am leaving and you will disregard this incident as a fluke. Understood, soldier?" Point out his hardened fighter pride so he's less likely to talk about how a small "desk drone" just laid him out. "If you chose to hide your contraband between then and when Prime arrives, that is your option and I'll dismiss any findings." Second incentive.

I move swiftly pass by him while he's still reeling but three steps out of the cave's mouth I hear him scrambling. I expected him to grab his boxes but he lunges and grabs me from behind. He latches on from between my doorwings, crushing them into his shoulders when his arms come around, pinning me with a tight a hold. He lifts me enough that my peds are barely touching the ground.

"No way, Prowl," he growls. His engine's deep vibrating roar accentuates his point.

My surprise is all my battle computer needs and it ruthlessly takes back total control. My doorwings flare and force his shoulders to move outward, thereby weakening his hold at the joints. In a continuous follow-through I/it kick Sideswipe hard on the knee, pushed my arms forward to finish breaking the hold while launching the back of my helm to hit the lower third of his face. His arms drop me and he stumbles, but his surprise disappears and he punches me in the side before I can come about and face him.

I stagger sideways but he stops me by roughly yanking my doorwing back to him. The pain lashes my neuro-net and immediately my energy blade is pulled from subspace and taking a swing at Sideswipe with the less dangerous edge facing him. He shoves me away and I/it recover with a defensive stance.

How is it doing this? Even with my/our secret training he's more sufficiently skilled as well as stronger and faster. Until now I used battle computer's self-defense mode only to cover retreats or extractions, but now its full capabilities are online and it's faster than my processor can retaliate against its melded and consuming hold. It sees Sideswipe as an enemy. The realization my battle computer has the ability to unilaterally take over my body terrifies me. Somehow beyond the cold dread and plate-prickling sensation I feel the terror, perhaps from my damaged subroutines or my spark somehow managing to speak to me.

'Stop it!' I yell at it as my body ducks a grab from Sideswipe faster than my processor can register the attempted strike. The blade swings at him but Sideswipe moves aside easily. I try reasoning with the overpowering system while continuing my own fight for control. 'Sideswipe is an Autobot. To injury him is to risk the Autobot cause. He is vital to Autobot defenses and it's illogical to risk Autobot defenses over a few joors of avoiding an irate medic. Besides that one point, these actions make those joors of avoidance irrelevant.'

'He must be silence, and quickly.' It replies.

'What does that mean?! We cannot harm him!'

'A quick, non-fatal silencer attack will not leave any lingering damage and he'll be mobile before the night passes. There is a 0.12% that the Autobots will be pulled into battle before then.' Is this really what my battle computer is like when agitated and fully engaged, and without my spark's concerned interference disrupting the data flow?

So focused on disrupting its control I ignored the outside in hopes to win - until I heard a sizzle and crackle followed by a strangled hissing. Sideswipe's down on one knee like a wounded animal Pit-driven to rip off the face of anyone who approaches it. His other leg is burned from ankle strut into the knee strut, where I can see damage from a blade being twisted and pull. I think it's more superficial that it looks but I can't tell. There's little spilled energon but energy blades do sear wounds shut. He venomously cursed, "You're going down to the Pit for that, and I'm taking you there personally."

I don't want to - you don't know the situation - I've fragged myself good - ow, my chassis! Did Sideswipe manage to land a strike at the same time I/it/we struck his leg? My battle computer's focus splits between stepping back and turning back around to untwist my body into a better defensive stance, as well as determining if Sideswipe managed a strike it didn't detect.

In the kliks it re-ran the attack via simulation to determine the pain source I manage to get control of my peds and I dug them into the rocks and mud so my body can't complete the turn. I also managed to drop the energy blade. The only successful factor is physical attacks so far so the primary immediate solution is for Sideswipe to win the skirmish. I see his launch and incoming fist directly in line with a clear shot to my chest; I wait for the impact.

Too quickly my hands grab his arm and use his momentum to swing him enough that his peds lose traction and he slips onto his side. My brief and limited control diminished as I/it jump onto his front and force his captured hand beneath his back as my knees strike him flat, his other hand already tucked underneath from the spiraled landing. I/it uses my knees to shift my weight on his torso so he can't arch his back and pull his hands out. What is it doing? Horror strikes when I realize what my battle computer meant by silencing him. My hands slide around Sideswipe's neck, choking off the energon supply and electrical feed to his processor to achieve a blackout.

He's trying to get his legs underneath him so he can free his arms but my peds are in his hip seams and every time he tries they dig painfully and as sharply as they can into his muscle cables. I can see the pain in his optics. I must stop it. How did I miss this time and time again? Is this because my spark isn't there to fight that darkness from my life before the battle computer? Is the computer feeding off of it? Talk about "when it rains, it pours," but I'm the one who made the hurricane-like rainfall and Sideswipe's becoming the victim of my decisions and secrets. My victim. I can't -

\- Sounds of tires and a transformation. Pounding ped-steps. What just happened? I'm still on top of Sideswipe but he's tilting his body and I'm almost off. My battle computer is frozen, something interrupting the calculations for the "twin variable." I let go of Sideswipe just before Sunstreaker's fist connects with the back of my helm.

The hit flings me completely off of Sideswipe, my body stopping after sliding into the rocks I can't see due to the burst of visual static, but I felt the landing. More pounding ped-steps and Sunstreaker kicks my abdominal region.

I statically call, "Wait." 'I have control now, you don't have to keep me down', is what I want to say. Instead Sunstreaker painfully jerks me upward by my right doorwing before suddenly stopping. I see Sideswipe's upright ped. It's -

\- Roughness biting, doorwings aching. I'm on my peds against a large rock with a course and jagged face. How? Sunstreaker is yelling something at me and Sideswipe is profusely glaring at me, one hand rubbing his neck while his other hand is clasped tightly onto his brother's lower arm. His legs are shift so he can favor the damaged one. Perhaps he wants Sunstreaker to back down so he can take me to the Pit first.

I should listen to them but my cursed right doorwing feels painfully wrong. My sensors are giving me strange read outs. A quick scroll through them shows that they're coming back incorrect because of errors. What's going on? I reach up to manually examine the doorwing -

\- Tight grasp on arms, liquid dampness clings to back. Am I loosing time? Why is it hard to return my thoughts to normal? I'm on my knees but I'm being firmly held up by Sideswipe's painfully tight grip on both upper arms. His fingertips are digging into my plating and they're probably leaving dents or scratches. He's speaking. With what words? "I don't know. I don't put doorwings together. When is Ratchet getting here?" His vocalizer makes a slight crackling noise as he speaks.

"I don't know, he's not the fastest and it'll be hard for him to get up here." Sunstreaker answers from behind me. "It's not like he's built to climb and I doubt Prime's able to carry a pissed-off unsober Ratchet. Definitely not Jazz. Blue's gonna get here first since he was on my tail until I outgunned him, plus he actually knows how to get up here without a guide. Maybe he knows something. I found the leak. It's minor."

I weakly ask with static interruption, "What leak?"

Sunstreaker leans forward so I can see part of his face. Both twins look at me while the yellow one nastily replies. "The one you got when sliding down the rock like a cowardly Decepticon. First you attack Sides and then you practically faint."

Sideswipe adds with a low tone despite the vocalizer damage, "The one we're trying to fix so either Ratchet or I can take you straight to Unicron. We want to make sure you know who's tossing you in."

"What are you talking about? You... I..." another dip in energy and suddenly my processor felt entirely underpowered. All neuro-nets begin tingling uncomfortably. "Was on the ground... then I stand. Now neither." Huh? -

\- Winds. Felt or heard? Dirt on my back – no, my back on dirt – with my head propped up, hard pressure pushing down on my chassis. Right doorwing angled awkwardly. Wetness on my face. Sobbing. Not me. My helm's rest? Another processor energy dip. Optics, focus. Focus optics.

Red chevron above. Under red chevron? More optics. Bluestreak's optics. Wetness slips from his optics, falls, and lands below. My face below. Must stop wetness. How? Bluestreak's pain always fix with embrace. Right arm can't move. A pressure lock? Left arm reaches up, energy levels dip, arm's energon bleeds backward. Falls with gravity. Illogical. Arm burns still. Energon lost? Keep reaching, embrace. Stop wetness.

Chassis pressure shifts. A different hand reaches across, black attached to red and white. Pushes outstretched hand down. The hand speaks. "Blue! Stop crying, you're making him move. Sunny's trying to get the area safe for either Ratchet coming up here or me carrying Prowl down there. If you can't help me then help him."

Helm rest tremors then stills. "What can I do to help you?"

"Ratchet says I need to force his spark chamber to maintain contact with his spark, but also to keep any of his necessary systems from straining, and _also_ try keeping his auxiliary systems from kicking on. Don't know how the frag to do that at all, let alone during a spark-attack, but you gotta at least keep him from moving, straining, or really anything. Just, just don't let him doing anything. If you know any special tricks to turn off another Praxian's auxiliary systems, now's the time."

Spark-attack. The loss of spark. No spark, no working shell. Failing spark, spark energy disengages shell, shell's purpose extinguishes, spark's support systems shrivel, spark disappears, shell fails to exist. Shell failures: intermittent electrical loss, power surges, skipping processor, energon pump seizes randomly. Oh. Understand.

Strange chassis pain. Wrong. Pain inside and beyond chassis. Burning? -

\- Tired. Fire inside. Outside frigid. View black metal. See red metal swing below black. Legs. Riding shoulder, looking back. Shoulder in motion. Shaky motion, worsen from one leg. Red legs crush things, cause noise. Sound crackles through splotchy blackness surrounding legs, me, the top of rocks. Sounds grating.

Very tired. Fire burns in distance. View dims until only a grey and black mesh exists. Noises less grating.

"Ratchet! We're almost there! He's getting worse really fast and he needs help right now really bad!" Far cries. Who's?

Help is nearby. Self-continuation, must. Who's self? Irrelevant; must continue. Help, hold for help. Hold, help. Hold. Ho-


	6. Jazz's POV: Unicron's Chew Toy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the first IDW element really comes in, but I don't have a lot of comic issues so this is based on IDW "Spotlight: Arcee."

Prime, a slightly-tipsy angry Ratchet, and I were almost just under half of the way to the twins previously abandoned hideaway when Sunstreaker blasted us with a conference comm. marked emergency. ::Ratchet!::

::What?! It's a doorwing leak and unless you're about to tell me that you did something stupid and now he's gushing - ::

::We're pretty sure it's not just a leak. I've got Sideswipe and Blue on the line. Blue, how close are you?::

::I think my ETA is 3 breems but I hate climbing mud at night. Even if it's cold and less likely to make things slippery. Why? What did you do? Sunstreaker, if you hadn't out-drove me - ::

::Not the time!:: Sunstreaker snapped. ::Something is wrong. We didn't tell you when we comm.'d in about Prowl slipping and getting a doorwing leak, but Prowl attacked Sideswipe. Sideswipe said Prowl's optics shuttered and then he went limp before a weird power on. Then I punched him - ::

::Whoa!:: I call out, revving my engine at Ratchet to find a way to magically speed up. ::That is _not_  - ::

::No time!:: Sideswipe called out. ::We don't think Prowl collapsed from the leak, anymore; we think he's blacking out and on. He started say something weird and then he _very_ abruptly went limp and offline. Still is. What's going on?::

Suddenly Ratchet's engine stalled and Bluestreak emitted a high whine across the line. ::I'll be there - aah, sodding mud - as fast as I can!::

Ratchet floored his engine and speed up to what I can only assume was his absolute maximum speed, a slightly faster pace. ::Is his chassis burning hot, right above his spark chamber?::

Sideswipe answered. ::Yeah, like I think I've got burn marks on my hand.::

::Everyone listen closely.:: The angry, buzzed mech was replaced by a clinical, controlled medic. ::Prowl has been at risk for a spark-attack and what Sideswipe describes matches some of the initial symptoms. There's very little time to act before it's too late. First, one of the twins will need to press as hard as he can on Prowl's chassis and force a connection between his spark and spark chamber. Spark-attacks dispel spark energy while tricking the shell's spark support systems into thinking there's no more spark, so the systems stop working.

::Twin Number Two needs to clear or stabilize a path for me to come up there or for Twin Number One to take him down here. Time being the issue it is and my speed not being lambo-fast, we'll all plan on Prowl being carried down. Bluestreak, help Twin Number Two.::

Bluestreak jumped in, ::I can't leave Prowl. I can see him and the twins.::

Sunstreaker said dead-calm, ::Sideswipe will take care of Prowl and watch Blue, I'll take care of the pathway. There's some rocks and heavy boulders I can move around.::

I asked, ::Can't Sides piledrive the boulders into gravel and add traction?::

::Not without triggering a mud slide. I'm at the first spot for adding stability.::

Ratchet resumed instructions. ::Sideswipe, listen closely. The more systems running at every interruption, the more Prowl will have problems. Try keeping his auxiliary systems offline and make as many primary systems idle as possible. I'll give you instructions in a moment.::

::Jazz,:: Ratchet directed at me. ::Take these items from my subspace and get to the trail. Comm. me when you do and I'll tell you to set it by the trail base or trail top, depending on where we need to do the emergency extraction.::

I slammed on my brakes. ::Extraction?!:: I transformed, caught the bag of medical supplies Ratchet ejected from his subspace, put it in my subspace, transformed, and powered through to pass him and Prime. ::Sunny, send me the exact coordinates for the bottom of the pathway.::

::Sending.::

::He's moving!:: Sideswipe called out. ::I stopped him but his optics are still online. What do I do?::

I sped quickly, listening to Ratchet's brief explanation of what Sideswipe needed to do. Online optics were not a good thing because it meant several non-critical systems were on and the more systems on, the more potential for cascading failures from abrupt power interruptions. Since the warrior lacked tools, the only thing he could monitor was Prowl's chassis. If it suddenly became chilled, then... then...

As soon as I saw the base of the trail I pinged Ratchet. ::I see it. Up top or down below?::

::Below. Follow the datapad in the bag.::

I transformed as soon as I was a few walking paces from the trail base, using the stop to gauge the area for the flattest, clearest area. There's a decent spot right off the end of the footpath. I pull out the bag and set it down. First object I grabbed was a silvery rolled mat and I set to prying it apart. "This stuff sticks like cooling soldering metals," I growled.

"What?" I heard a loud call from above. I looked up and saw Sunstreaker fairly high up and moving that few rocks blocking the path from being a straight run in that section.

"This mat doesn't pull apart easily." I called back up.

"Pull out the rest of that bag and I'll help you."

By the time I had everything out and off to the side Sunny joined me and helped me pry the blanket apart. There was a black canister with three colored ports, three colored quick-connect lines matching the ports, a liquid discharge container, a silver canister, and a matching silver line connected to a handle similar to a skinny human gas pump. We connected the lines to their colored ports. When we finished smoothing out the weighted containment/protection blanket we could see Ratchet and Prime's headlights. "What's going on up top?" I asked Sunny.

Sunstreaker didn't answer for a few kliks while I finalized some of the equipments grouping by functional appearance. "Sideswipe says Prowl is offline but still burning hot. He had Blue pull some chords and a box top to tie Prowl's chest. They're finishing practically crushing his chest into his spark so they can take off while maintaining contact."

Prime and Ratchet were closing in. I asked the 'bot by my side, "I didn't think you'd be quick to offer help. You sounded pissed when you first called Ratchet over Prowl's leak and apparently you hit him? Are you or Sideswipe going to keep it cool?"

"Sure. Can't get revenge at a deactivated 'bot."

I glared at him behind my visor. Prime and Ratchet pulled up and stop, transforming before either came to a full stop. They barely closed the distance before we heard loud noises of running mechs, sometimes followed by sounds of small rocks being crushed. We turned and saw Bluestreak in the front, moving the fastest. "Ratchet! We're almost there! He needs help really bad!"

My plating froze more than the chilled wind could cause as the world dropped me halfway down a hole. Bluestreak ran off the path and turned immediately away to give clearance. Sideswipe was behind him, carrying Prowl over his shoulder, and running with a limp or catch in his leg. Prime noticed it, too, and reached out. "Hand him to me."

Sideswipe practically heaved Prowl's limp body into Prime's hands and skidded awkwardly to a crouched stop. Prime managed to carefully and smoothly bring Prowl's body onto the center of the blanket. He pulled the chords and flat piece of metal off.

Sideswipe's voice crackled with fear and static interruption from undisclosed damage. "I think his chassis is starting to cool."

Bluestreak shook hard and took a step to Ratchet as the medic pulled from his subspace a grey box with a door on one side and glass on the other. Sunstreaker grabbed the gunner, turned them away from Prowl, and pinned his arms. Bluestreak cried, "Let go of me!"

"Don't distract Ratchet." Sunstreaker firmly ordered. Blue cried out again, softer, and his arms put up a thin attempt at breaking away.

I barely noticed the pair in my peripheral vision because Ratchet became the center of my world, and the center of my world was kneeling down to Prowl's chassis. He extracted a medical cable from his wrist and attached it to Prowl's medical hardline port. "Jazz, here. I need you to hold this steady."

I kneeled down opposite of Ratchet. He positioned it so the box rested glass-side down on Prowl's chassis. "Take this, hold it steady. Don't let it drop when his chassis plating moves." He placed his hand on the edge facing up, which looked like a metal, horizontal window shutter.

"Got it." How I sounded calm I don't know. Extremely imbedded "do not panic" training, I suppose.

"Prime, keep watch on the extraction chamber for anything that seems wrong or might become wrong." Ratchet didn't wait for his commander to answer his order as he pressed his face as close Prowl's chassis as possible. We heard the sounds of sliding plating and Ratchet suddenly pushed something on the box and it rocketed to life. The glass door opened and I held tightly to keep it from moving with the plate. A flash of light inside of it traveled between it and Prowl's chassis, and then a quick hum before I heard the glass door click shut. Other systems in the box whirled to life.

Ratchet disconnected himself from Prowl, grabbed the box and took it from my hands, leaving me to look down at an empty Prowl shell with his spark chamber plates open and dark. Lifeless. Ratchet pushed himself sideways into where I set the black canister and attached all three lines to marked spots, glass-side out. I peered inside from my spot, able to see the clearly see the contacts from the chamber's top-side lights and the spark's contained energy. The spark was small and bursting as if shaking, completely unlike a normal spark. Ratchet pushed a button on the canister and two kliks later the shakings lessened.

When he moved back to Prowl's empty body he commanded, "Prime, watch Prowl's spark. I modified a penitentiary spark chamber to interface with that machine for emergency energy and supplements. It’ll start flashing and alarming if he gets worse. He won't get better until we get to Medbay, but that device should keep him from getting worse. Be ready for transport as I explained earlier." Ratchet advised, likely talking about whatever he told Prime while they were racing to reach my setup location.

"Jazz," Ratchet continued. "You're doing energon line prep for moving his shell."

"Shouldn't your medical team be doing this?" I nervously asked as he shoved the silver pump into my hand.

"They're taking care of everything in Medbay. If I thought this was going to be more than me yelling at Prowl I would've brought First Aid or Perceptor. We're getting him ready for transport." Ratchet reconnected himself to Prowl's medical hardline port. "We need to protect his systems."

"Wouldn't shutting off all electrical control do that?"

"I'm working on that portion," Ratchet curtly answered, pointed to the hardline. "We need to keep the energon in his lines suspended because if it starts settling or solidifying into a gel it’ll add to my list of problems. I'll run a diagnostic before I power him down to see if any other systems are at risk for quick deterioration."

"So what am I doing?"

"You're activating and using that tool where I tell you to." Ratchet finally closed Prowl's empty spark chamber and used the medical override to slide open a plate on Prowl's side, by his energon tanks. "Hook that up to the orange-colored port."

I put it in, my plates crawling at the idea of doing something invasive to my friend's empty shell while his spark is maybe extinguishing nearby. "Done."

"Push the orange activate button on the tool."

I did as told and my grip automatically tightened with the hose’s pressure increase. "What's this doing?"

"Without getting medical about it, it's pre-flushing his systems that run on or interact with energon. It keeps the energon from gumming up or causing some deterioration. Happens from settling additives or improperly processes energon forming gelatinous globs that wouldn’t normally happen because of continuous processing. Prowl prefers the more acidic energon and I'd rather not have acidic additives settle, nor do I trust our luck that there isn’t a possibility of improperly processed energy in his systems right now. In Medbay my team will be flushing out all of his systems. Tell me when it's done."

After approximately a half-breem the tool flashed its status. "Done."

"Good. None of his other systems are destabilized to the point I have to act now, and that means we don’t need to do anymore system-based preps to move him. Prime, transform and prepare. Sideswipe, I want you in Prime's trailer and pushed up against the back. Whatever happened to that leg, you aren't driving on it. Help Jazz load the device and Prowl's spark into Prime's trailer."

I disconnected the tool and moved to Prowl's spark side. Sideswipe joined me and grabbed the device, pulling it up and in with him as he backed into the transformed Prime's trailer. I picked up the spark chamber and followed Sideswipe at an almost intimate closeness, least we tug a line. My hands felt like they were burning, holding Prowl's existence suspended in mid-death literally in the palm of my hands. I really want Sunstreaker's help but then Bluestreak would see.

With Sideswipe, the device, and Prowl's spark safely inside I moved back to my previous position by Prowl's body. Ratchet was no longer connected via hardline and Prowl's plating was closed. He was using the twins' chords to loosely tie Prowl's legs and hands together. Ratchet called, "Sideswipe, when we move him I want you to help us set him down so he's on his back but not pinching his doorwings. I don't need more work by adding misaligned joints."

"Got it," came a crackled reply from inside Prime's trailer.

"Jazz, lift on three. One, two, three." We lifted Prowl up from his back, with Ratchet closer to his legs and me closer to his neck, so only Prowl's tied peds and head dangled. We three carefully placed him into the trailer. Ratchet hopped inside. "Jazz, Sunstreaker, and Bluestreak. Pack up this medical equipment first. Use the discharge container to clear the silver container’s line before you store it. Prime, straight to Medbay."

"Copy that," Prime stated and closed his trailer. Optimus and his hidden cargo moved fairly quickly, disappearing as I numbly stared at them. Bluestreak suddenly appeared by my side, looked at me, behind us, and then took off straight after Prime.

"You should follow him." Sunstreaker calmly started packing up the equipment a few paces behind my back. "I know how this all breaks down and I caught the part about purging the silver line. Go after Blue before he makes himself a problem or risk for Ratchet."

"Yeah, thanks," I transform before I finish speaking and take off.

 

|\/\/\/|

 

Ratchet didn't let any of us into Medbay except Prime and Sideswipe, and he kicked out Prime once he could transform into bipedal mode. Sideswipe was also kicked out after First Aid confirmed that Sideswipe's injuries were non-critical. First Aid promised to see him as soon as Prowl's situation was stabilized. Since the waiting area was closed, being that it was technically inside Medbay, we all (including Sunstreaker) ended up in the hallway. It wasn't like Ratchet would come out to yell at us for blocking the area.

That's how a bleary-optic'd Smokescreen found us: Bluestreak fretfully talking to the Medbay doors and to the twins, a troubled Prime standing against the hallway corner by the door, me sitting against the opposite corner without really looking at anything in particular, and an bristling Sunstreaker glaring at the Medbay doors while Sideswipe leaned against him, back-to-back.

"Whoa," Smokey commented when he glanced at Sideswipe. "Blue?"

The young gunner was already slowing down when Smokescreen first spoke but stopped completely at his name. "Smoke! Ratchet says Prowl's not doing so good and something went really wrong and - " he cartwheeled his hands in distressed panic. "I don't know what to say! Nothing is matching up with anything."

Smokescreen slowly nodded. "I got that from your comm. message. Is he going to live?"

Optimus answered the quickest. "Ratchet believes so but there's some obstacles, most being related to recovery. He didn't full elaborate, though, choosing non-medical descriptive terms regarding the matter."

Smokescreen's optics fell with that piece of information. Whether or not he got that meant Ratchet was back to angry expletives when not speaking medical jargon, I don't know. He motioned for Blue and he came over to stay by Smokey. After a breem of melancholy silence, save the whisper-like murmuring of Blue, Smokescreen asked, "So what happened to Sides?"

Sideswipe dully glared at him and Sunstreaker answered on his behalf. "Your brother is a cheating coward who attacked Sideswipe because Primus-forbid Prowl face his consequences."

"No way. There's no way Prowl did that." Everyone but Blue gave Smokey a death glare.

Prime tersely stated, "We are waiting for First Aid to come out and take care of Sideswipe before requiring anything from him. While he can speak, his vocalizer suffered some damage and I won't allow anyone to push him. Not even to speak through his commlink. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

The resulting silence didn't last much longer before the remaining available officers rounded the corner. Red Alert looked agitated but informed while Ironhide looked a bit more bewildered. The latter spoke first amongst the collective presences. "What's going on? All Red's giving me is that there's a critical situation with an officer down. Even that was said incredibly cryptic. I see two officers missing from this hallway, and one’s a given on this side of the doors. What’s happened with Prowl?"

Red scowled at him. "Once again, this isn't a secured location! We shouldn't be discussing the unexpected state of our command in the open!"

"Red, we aren't under attack and between the gambler, the talker, and the pair of troublemakers, I'm pretty sure this secret won't be entirely silent before mid- primary shift."

Somewhat fortunately, Red Alert didn't have a chance to snub Ironhide's points because a dazed First Aid breezed through the door. He stopped, the doors closed, and then he cycled his optics. Prime inquired, "What's the status?"

"Prowl is still critical but stable. Medbay is, ah, tense. Perceptor and Wheeljack said I could use either of their labs to work on Sideswipe. I think Wheeljack's will have the best tools for Sideswipe's leg."

Prime nodded. "We will head to Wheeljack's office. We can lock it and debrief there. Smokescreen and Bluestreak will remain here in case Ratchet needs information."

Bluestreak protested, his voice high with fear. "I don't want to be kept in the dark anymore. I had to watch my brother very nearly die painfully and sort of slowly. I saw his optics short out, I felt his shell lose all tension like a soft rag doll," Blue started before stopping abruptly and shuddering with is whole body.

Smokescreen nearly started, evidently unaware exactly how Blue fit into this, and gave the younger brother a fierce hug. "Someone will tell us, okay, Blue? You and I can talk here and wait for news. Then someone will tell us everything after Prime's meeting is over."

Prime agreed. "Someone will debrief you both shortly after decisions are made. It is my intension to have preliminary actions decided by the end of our debrief. As Red Alert has pointed out, this is a vulnerable time for us."

Everyone but the brothers and I made their way down the short walk to Wheeljack's lab. I looked at the brothers while Smokescreen guided Bluestreak to the wall to rest against. I comm.'d Smokescreen. ::I have virtually no details, but Prowl had a spark-attack and Blue was there from about the time it started getting pretty bad to when Prowl was practically kliks from having his spark extinguish. Good luck.::

::Frag me. I want to know everything.::

::I figured. I'm sure Prime meant his word.:: Unlike a certain other officer not present.

I walked to Wheeljack's nearby lab. Prime ordered me to lock the door and I did so as I looked over the room's occupant configuration. Everyone loosely surrounded one of Wheeljack's clearest workbenches, free of tools and questionable experiments. Sunstreaker and Ironhide were the furthest away from the workbench by a few additional steps.

Sideswipe was perched on one of Wheeljack’s lower benches so First Aid could access him easily without needing an assist regarding the taller mech. He was in the midst of running some medical equipment along Sides’s neck. First Aid spoke softly, “According to this your internal repairs are doing well. I brought some medication I can inject into your neck for localized self-repair boosts for a quicker recovery. You may then start your debrief over your commlink to bypass your vocalizer or just wait. You and Prime decide.”

Sideswipe nodded and First Aid pulled the liquid-containing syringe from his subspace. He administered the medication and then moved on to examining Sideswipe’s leg. He spoke aloud but probably more to Prime. “Given Sideswipe’s existing progress and that medication, he should be able to talk comfortably within a half-joor.”

::I'll talk now and get this over with,:: Sideswipe answered and looked at Prime.

Optimus offered a small nod. "Take your time. I'm sure you realize that everyone will have questions. Right now I might not permit too many questions since everything is raw and unsorted, but soon."

I rested against a small standalone workstand between Sunstreaker and Ironhide as he started. ::I guess it's going to come up that Sunny, Blue, and I were up to things. We were returning to grab a box when we found Prowl already in the hideout, curled up against a wall. Blue tried pulling him up, Prowl asked us to leave, Blue got extra upset, and then there was a beep.::

Prime supplied for those who didn't hear the intoxicated rants caused by that beep's signal, "Ratchet's device. It told Ratchet when Prowl disobeyed a certain direct medical order. To our knowledge he'd gone roughly six deca-orns without breaking it. Ratchet called me, Jazz found out, and then we waited until Ratchet had his examination tools. I don't recall the spark chamber being put into his subspace."

Ironhide's jaw fell slack. "A spark chamber in subspace? How does that work?"

"To be specific, it was a penitentiary spark chamber."

Red Alert pondered, "When did we get those?"

Ironhide shrugged. "We've always had five for situations involving nasty Decepticons where keeping them even in stasis posed a risk. Like if we ever caught Menasor or Megatron. I didn't realize Ratchet had taken one." His expression soured somewhat with that, his mouth turning into a mild scowl.

Prime replied, "Another issue for another time. Sideswipe, continue."

Sideswipe's attention returned to the room instead of just the medic cleaning the burns on his leg. ::Right, so Sunny took Blue away and I talked to Prowl. At first he was moving kinda funny, even before Sunny and Blue left. Then he tried getting answers from me on my boxes and I tried getting answers from him on what he was doing. After a few rounds he said he was avoiding a drunken happy Ratchet because Ratchet's drinking was related to him. I told him that his reason was total slag because I know what a happy-drunk Ratchet is like.

::That's when Sunny told me that you three - uh, Ratchet, Prime, Jazz - were getting ready to leave. I guess it's a good thing Ratchet was plenty ready because after I mentioned it to Prowl, along with me keeping him in place for Ratchet, it went downhill from there. No pun intended.::

I thought about the prepping and what didn't match with what Ratchet threw at me. "Ratchet didn't give me what he packed. Perhaps he's been keeping the emergency bag and spark chamber in his subspace. We all saw how little of time there was to react. There wouldn't have been time to have someone run it out from Medbay."

Ironhide and Red Alert exchanged looks and then visually swept the room. Ironhide dryly stated, "I get the feeling this story is going to get a whole lot worse."

::Oh, so, _so_ much worse. Hang on a klik,:: Sideswipe agreed. A static clearing sound exited his vocalizer. “Testing… testing… the power of pain-free speech has returned!”

Sunstreaker 'humphed' and replied, "You still sound extra unpleasant."

"Too fragging bad, bro. Aid, how's the leg?"

First Aid paused and looked up. "I'm nearly done cleaning and prepping it. I'll be using Wheeljack's equipment to fix the knee and then weld a patch to the leg cut. Your ankle is fine. The damage is slight and self-repairs will have it working fine before you recharge."

Ironhide drawled, "I'm looking forward to how you got that wound."

"Well, we're almost there," Sideswipe retorted. "This is where things get crazy and I swear with my entire honor, including what honor you don't think I have, is totally true. After I told Prowl I wasn't letting him leave he punched me. In the face. I wasn't expecting it and he knocked me back. Okay, he knocked me down. That's probably going to come up. He tried getting away and it took me a few kliks to figure out what was going on. I got back up and pinned him, his chest to my back and his peds almost off the ground. I had his doorwings pinned by my shoulders. I thought doorwings were a weak spot when it came to touch but then Prowl uses them to break my hold.

"He fights his way out, I stop him by grabbing his doorwing. Seriously, it's like the things didn’t cause him pain. I don't know if he turned the sensors offline or what, but then the whole thing is so fragged up that it hardly makes it on the 'what doesn't make sense' list. After a bit of fighting he pulled out an energy blade. The long ones that look kind of like a hilt-less sword but made of metal with an energy field around the blade. The training type, I think."

"Hold up!" I speak up as Ironhide equally exclaims disbelief. "Prowl had a close-combat training weapon that we don't even have here? He's never been interested in learning that type of combat skill. We don't have a tool for him to learn anyways, right Ironhide?"

"Right. Sides, you mistook something 'cause we don't have one even on Earth."

"Hey! Leg wound." He pointed down to the leg as First Aid left to gather Wheeljack's tools. "What do you think gave me this? His overly concentrated thoughts that he used to attack with literal laser focus? This is obviously not acid pellet damage. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure the weapon is still there. He dropped it and I didn't pick it up."

Ironhide's scowl grew and he rocked restlessly. "I'll check it out when we're done here."

"So yeah, continuing on... he dropped the energy blade after a sudden failed turn. It was really weird and I tried striking him down. Then he grabbed my arm, I caught mud and loss my stance. He sort of pinned me down and got on top of me." Sideswipe ducked his head down as if the returning First Aid carrying tools and welding strips was the most interesting thing ever.

Sunstreaker stared at his brother. "Hey, you," Sunny prodded, "continue. Even I have questions about the weird slag I saw when I punched Prowl off of you."

"It's just... this is where it gets really, _really_ weird. Like Prowl doing pretty good at close combat with a weapon of mysterious origins stops being the number one crazy thing to happen." Sideswipe complained. "Just so you know, I was trying not to find myself in a situation with me saying, ‘Sorry Prime, but I had to beat your SIC unconscious because he attacked me and put up a Pit of a fight.’ If it’d been Cliffjumper then at least no one would call me a liar or threaten to charge me with treason. Maybe a deca-orn in the brig, but not treason. I was trying to get Prowl down but not out.”

Prime nodded again. “Understood. Continue.”

“Yeah, okay. So he pins my hands under me, jumps on my chest, and uses his peds to dig into my hip struts and muscle cables, making it extremely painful to using my legs to buck him. Not to mention his peds worked like a wedge and limited some of my motion. But that's not the worse part. He started choking me. This vocalizer problem," he said with a gesture to his neck, "is all Prowl. He started choking me where there’s that spot you can cut everything off between the processor and body, causing a backout. I know because I’ve done it. He tried until he had this weird power off and then back on thing happened. Blue's description of a soft rag doll is pretty dead on, except Prowl didn't collapse like a doll then. He sort of crumbled into himself but his loose hands stayed on my neck and his peds in my hips. Without him actively resisting anymore I was able to start twisting to get him off. I almost had it when he powered back on. I thought for sure he’d resume but his grip let go instead of tightened, and then Sunstreaker punched him off of me. Like Sunny said."

I stared at him in shock, a dumb slack jawed expression. A quick cursory glance under my visor said everyone was doing the same, except Prime but I bet he was under that mask. Even First Aid stopped repairing him to stare, which was probably good thing because he had a welding torch in hand. Sideswipe squirmed a little under the stares, and I loudly “cleared” my vocalizer. “Aside from the major what-the-frag that I’m not sure how we can solve unless Ratchet saves Prowl, we still need to know what happened next.”

Sideswipe shrugged and First Aid returned to welding the temporary bandages. “Sunstreaker dragged Prowl up, he did that weird power off thing again. Sunny pushed him against a rock, and when he started that weird boot up I pulled Sunny off of him before he crushed Prowl into the rock. Prowl nearly fell and scrapped his doorwing across the rock but when said weird boot up finished he got enough control and was half-standing. He looked around, tried reaching up to his doorwing, suddenly went dark and fell like a stringless puppet. At that point we hailed Ratchet and asked what to do. You all – okay, most of you – know about what happened after that. Prowl only onlined once, maybe twice, after that. I think he onlined while I was carrying him but he felt only slightly less rag doll-like, to use Blue's description, instead of the normal live weight you get from a moving body.”

Ironhide asked us at large, “What do ‘you all’ know?”

Prime answered. “Ratchet had to do an emergency extraction, he had Jazz use an emergency system to prevent further shell damage, and I took Ratchet, Prowl, and Sideswipe back here. First Aid, Perceptor, and Wheeljack had Medbay prepped and grabbed Prowl. They told me to leave, Ratchet told First Aid to check Sideswipe for pending serious issues, and when the scan came back clean Sideswipe was told to wait until First Aid was free. First Aid, perhaps now you can enlighten us on what happened in Medbay?”

“I will as soon as I finish this last weld.” It took him only a breem. “Sideswipe, can you stand?”

Sideswipe hopped off. “Yup.”

“Alright, you’ll need to walk around to see if the weld, knee, and ankle are satisfactory for the time." Sideswipe did a little kick and then walked behind Sunstreaker. The yellow twin moved back a few steps until they stood even but far back from everyone else.

First Aid continued once Sideswipe made it clear he was done both with repairs and partaking in the conversation. "As for Prime’s question, Perceptor and Ratchet tended to Prowl’s spark to make sure it stabilized. Wheeljack and I prepped Prowl’s shell to keep it from becoming damaged or even unusable from deactivation. We had to flush the lines for energon, hydraulics, pneumatics, and coolants.” Creepy images of what flushing might look like came to mind but I shoved them aside before I miss something from Aid. I did the same for the crawling sensation caused by the eerie detached explanations referring to Prowl’s body as if it were mere dress covering. First Aid isn’t normally this detached but then medics get like this when the alternative is being too close to a grave situation. Even I’m heavily compartmentalizing this and I’m ignorant.

First Aid continued, “Then we fully removed all power for a complete shutdown. I left when Wheeljack started the task of cleaning the shell and then resetting all joints, pistons, and other motion-driven parts. He'll lock them so they can't move. Next we’ll be prepping Prowl’s shell for storage.”

Red Alert practically hissed. “How long do you expect our tactician to be out if you're storing his body?”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant.” First Aid backtracked. “It’s standard procedure for penitentiaries when separating a spark from its shell and we’re using that for a guideline. The only step we aren’t doing is the breaking it down into compactable sections. We really hope we aren’t storing his shell. Just like you, our hope is to have Prowl’s spark stronger and back in his shell ASAP. It’s just that there’s several obstacles we’re facing because medically speaking, this doesn’t happen.

"Ratchet’s never dealt with it before but since the risk came to light he trained himself and the rest of us in case it happened. Usually a spark extinguishes in battle so there’s no saving it, let alone healing it and then putting it back in its body. Few spark-attacks happen outside of battle and Ratchet’s research showed a success rate of 1:500 of even saving the spark, and the success rate of reintegration isn’t calculated. There’s not enough numbers. That’s why we’re using the penitentiaries as an outline because they do reintegration. Even still there’s several differences between what penitentiaries deal with and what we’re working against. For one, they have clean extractions; this wasn’t.”

“So what does this come down to?” I request clarification, continuing to compartmentalize to ignore the pending freak out. “You’re prepping the body because you’re team is fairly certain he’ll survive or you don’t know because this was too dirty of a job?”

First Aid’s mouth slightly quivered and he tightly gripped the welding torch in his hand. “I’m working on the basis that Perceptor and Ratchet will be successful. I know they succeeding in stabilizing his spark but I also know it – he – is in critical condition so stabilized when I left doesn’t mean he’ll stay stable. He’s probably stable now or else Ratchet would’ve summoned me back. Ratchet was wrapping up his part to join Jack and examine Prowl’s shell for evidence of problems.”

Red shrewdly asked, “How long do you think he’ll be out, minimum? We need to take immediate actions to contain the situation and our significant vulnerabilities. I need to know how long I need contingency plans in place and address extended timeframes.”

“I don’t know. I think that’s really a Ratchet question. I didn’t actually train on spark health, just how to assist with an extraction and how to clean a shell to preserve it for reintegration.” First Aid took a half-step back away from Red. “I also didn’t train on reintegration. Only Ratchet and Perceptor did and that’s because they figured if it got that far, then Jack and I can train.”

I thought, ‘Oh good Primus, Prowl, you screwed yourself good.’

Ironhide decided to voice his similar thoughts. “How’d Prowl get this screwed up? Is it ‘cause he was already damaged?”

Both twins, forgotten by the rest of us, said, “Huh?”

Sideswipe added, “Just what the Pit did we drive into?”

Red Alert, having never been originally made aware of the situation, also had something to say. “He was damaged before this?! Why doesn’t anyone tell me things like this? Do you know how much risk you may have put the _Ark_ in if he was already compromised! What damage?”

“No, no! I think. Again, Ratchet questions.” First Aid completed that half-step backwards, along with putting his hands up, welding torch still in one. “Really, maybe Prime should go talk to Ratchet now. I’m sure Ratchet’s in a foul mood, even for him, but you need answers now. And then maybe Prime can debrief Red Alert? I don’t know, that’s officer stuff,” he offered exasperatedly.

Sideswipe waved his hand. “Hey! What about us?”

Ironhide almost retaliated, “What about you? You aren’t to say a thing outside of here unless it’s within the presence of an officer in a secured location. Not. One. Thing.”

Sunstreaker tersely protested, "So what, we're supposed to sit around on our hands and act like there's nothing wrong?"

Prime stopped the fight building between Ironhide and the twins. " _No one_ is going to do or say anything right now. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker: do not say or do anything related to what's happened and what you've learned. If you get questions, shrug the Autobot off. I will meet with you as soon as I addressed the issue with the medical team and the officers. You won't be 'sitting on your hands' for long."

The twins grumbled, their hands twitching almost in time with their scowls and angry muttering. Prime wrapped up the meeting. "Everyone is dismissed, except First Aid. Officers, remain on standby for my call. First Aid, you and I will head to Medbay."

The group, sans Prime and First Aid, started shuffling out, with Red twitching about emergency protocols and Ironhide reminding Prime that he'd be out investigating the site. I hung back, chewing on a decision before ultimately going for it before the chance was lost. ::Prime,:: I privately comm.

::Yes, Jazz?::

::I think I should go with you. Aside that you've now double-booked yourself with Prowl's bros and those two bros, I might have something to contribute.::

::Might?:: he echoed skeptically.

::Yeah. See, Prowl and I had a conversation right before we met up with you about how he was having trouble and I told him to recharge on it first. That might be something Ratchet needs to know.::

::Really...:: I could hear his disappointment, coupled with a bit of frustration. Maybe even aggravation.

::Nothing about our conversation indicated this. If it had I would've pushed him back into Ratchet's cradling arms.:: I reassured him, letting him know I didn't realize Prowl was in serious trouble and thought ‘eh.’

We three headed to Medbay. While it was a short trip, I gave Smokey a heads up. ::Hey, we're coming back to Medbay. Dunno if you two are in the hallway but we're going to talk to Ratchet first.::

::Yeah, we are. Good to know, thanks. I'll let Blue know so he doesn't hold you up.::

We saw them a breem later and Smokescreen had Blue tucked into his body. Smokescreen watched us wearily while Blue's optics remained down. I couldn't tell if he was still that upset or trying to abide by Smokey's request to not slow us down. Regardless, Smokescreen acknowledged dully, "Prime. First Aid. Jazz. No word yet."

Prime replied, "Thank you, Smokescreen. First Aid, Jazz, and I will head in and figure out the situation."

Bluestreak's doorwings twitched and Smokescreen's hand tightened around his brother. Only Smokescreen spoke. "Okay." Prime and First Aid head in and I paused only a split-klik to look at them. There's something wrong here, even just from the lack of requesting an update from them, but I don't have time to find out what.

We cleared the door quickly and were greeted by Ratchet's irate, near-incoherent yelling. We couldn't see him, only hear him. "Gah!! Stab! Death! Repeatedly!"

First Aid tentatively called out, "Wheeljack?"

The engineer practically squirted out of a nearby door for a surgical room. "H-hi," he shakily greeted. Even his fins flickered as if the lights were shaking. "I don't suppose come back later is an option?"

Prime furrowed his optic rides, concern and worry thickening his voice. "Has something happened? Has he taken a turn for the worse?"

"Sort of. Something has happened but it happened before now. Perceptor is watching Prowl's spark and so far he hasn't said anything so Prowl's spark should be at least maintaining."

"Alright, so what happened that's only now coming up?"

Ratchet's voice raged, "Fragger! Sodding hellion licking vacuum nozzle! Scrappy bits, die! Melted slag!"

First Aid questioned, "Did Ratchet do his investigation?"

"Yeah, he did. He found some markings on the underside of Prowl's armor. Then Ratchet checked Prowl's subspace. Don't suppose you've been in Ratchet's closet for old tools?"

"No..."

"Turns out we're missing two. Prowl's got them. And based on the markings, he used them."

I flinched and snapped straight up, my hands now palms out. "What? Are you saying that Prowl also played doctor on himself? Primus, when did our tactician become a doctor and a frontliner?"

Wheeljack shook his head. "No, those markings wouldn't be there by anyone familiar with how to properly use them."

"Fine, our tact-mech tried his hand at medical worker and frontline attacker. What is going on?"

Prime waves his hand flat in a sign to cease the conversation. "Ratchet," he called.

"Busy!" he raged from inside the room. "I'm planning Prowl's murder after saving his aft. I want him to know all the different reasons I am killing him. He doesn't get to go quickly anymore. I! Stab! Repeatedly!"

"Ratchet, cycle your vents and cool your systems, then get out here. That's an order."

"Gah! Hate everyone!" His curse was followed by a long string of very crude curses before cutting out, replaced by the sounds of furiously cycling vents. After that died down and he was presumably more in control (not relax but in control), Ratchet stepped out of the room and commanded the room with Prowl's body to lock the door. Ratchet's entire body was twitching; his hands, his fingers, his ankles, neck, everything. Maybe 'in control' is a bit of a stretch.

"Ratchet, what did you find?" Prime asked, tolerating Ratchet's low snarling and twitching.

"That vacuum sucker of a fragger performed self-surgery! He's got very telling marks on his armor and tools in his subspace that he'd only use for that purpose. Oh, and it gets _worse_. Based on a fresh nick and one of the tools, he must have disabled my monitoring device sometime ago without me knowing it. Some of the lines aren't properly tensions, either. The questionable wiring of my monitoring plus the fresh nick at the power connection point says a non-medical but so-called 'smart' mech did it. Murder!" Ratchet turned around and suddenly kicked the wall to Prowl's room.

"Whoa..." I quietly uttered.

Somehow Optimus kept it cool. "Ratchet, pull yourself together. If Perceptor, Wheeljack, and First Aid have this, then I want you to take temporary leave as soon as you debrief me. Situation permitting, ten joors of leave."

"How dare you!"

"Excuse me, Officer Ratchet?"

Ratchet's ex-vents huffed several times but finally he seemed to recall the definitions of "sanity" and "subordinate", and worked his way back there. It was almost five whole breems before Ratchet could keep from bursting out threats and curses. "If I can't kill him on my terms then I'll try finding some silver lining. There’s _maybe_ one good thing to come of this, and I mean that in the most snarkiest, angriest of ways. I can fix his processor now with as much easy as one can fix processor damage. It's an empty shell now, so I just need to make sure I don't make a mistake. That is, _obviously_ , only important if I can put him back in his shell without the shock of reintegrating after a dirty extraction causing him to extinguish. So as far as the shell goes, my team can have him practically new and shiny, his dumb processor fixed so none of that life-long damage is there anymore. Make him a normal 'bot and maybe this Pit-spawned mech will stop being the bane of my existence."

"NO!"

Everyone spun around and looked at the Medbay doors, where a steel case for poker cards was jammed between the doors, keeping it open a crack. A muffled, "Damn it, Blue, I said quiet!" came through.

There were scrambling noises and protests from Smokescreen before Bluestreak charged in, kicking aside the case. His optics burned hard into Ratchet. Smokescreen hopped up and in behind him, grabbing his cards as he stood. "Ratchet, you won't make Prowl a different mech. You can't change my brother and make him someone you _think_ he should be." The quivering in his forward pointed doorwings wasn't from being upset but from aggression. Ratchet wasn't the only one riding a twisted emotional rollercoaster between terror and unadulterated fury. I'm just flat out refusing to step ped onto the rollercoaster. Not even peeking a look at the seats or the tracks.

Ratchet pinched his nose bridge; a human habit he did after others pressed him to extend a real bedside manner despite him wanting nothing to do with it. "Blue, you don't know what's going on. Just step back outside and wait for someone to tell you."

"No," Blue reasserted with the same strong-willed insistence. "You are supposed to save my brother, not turn into something you want him to be. He's not a science experiment; he's someone you need to save. I already nearly lost him; I still might lose him from this. I won't have you win the fight for his spark’s survival just to take him away from us and even himself."

I looked at Prime, who remained still. Is he waiting to see how this plays out? I'll wait for his lead. Wheeljack and First Aid had taken several steps away to avoid being in Ratchet's sight. After an intense moment Ratchet groused, “He needs to be fixed correctly, not just slapped back together.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! He’s our brother and we know what being ‘fixed’ means more to him than it means to you. His opinions and worries matter more to me than yours.” His doorwings quivered and he stood up straighter, doing his best to be intimidating. “He can’t tell you know so you’ll listen to us.”

“Bluestreak, you aren’t a medic and – ”

“I don’t care! You _will_ listen to us and build it into your plans or… or… or you’ll listen to me all the time!”

Blue’s optics glowed and his doorwings drew back and high as he stared the CMO down, continuing before Ratchet could get a few words of rebuttal. “You think I talk too much, right? You’ve only seen and heard me talk when I’m friendly, concerned, or worried. You haven’t seen or heard me talk when I use it against someone. Smokescreen can take point since he knows mechs' psyche, including Prowl's, and I'll be the backup if you don't listen to him. I'm giving you two options: listen to Smokey’s input or listen to my non-stop conversations about everything as it crosses my processor. Every moment you’re off-shift and I’m off-shift, I’ll be there and I won’t stop talking.”

Ratchet stared at him and the rest of us did the same to varying degrees. Smokey looked slightly amused and a bit impressed. Ratchet remarked, “You’re threatening to talk me into submission?”

“Yes.” Bluestreak gave the unimpressed CMO a hard glare. Given the varying mechs that come in here I doubt being talked to in excess made his list of Top Ten Threats. Maybe not even his top fifty.

Blue must’ve come to the same conclusion because he gave us all a taste, literally about taste. Speaking more rushed with his intonation often changing to keep it from being blocked out easily, he started very loudly. “So when I came out of recharge before my shift I went to get my first energon ration. I had some and sadly it still has that same bland taste. I think it tastes watery but I’ve never tasted water. Well, kinda sorta yes and no. Like I've been in water and sometimes it gets in my mouth but then is that tasting or experiencing? Never knew water on Cybertron. Maybe I should do experiments. Yeah, I will and then you and I can go over the results in super deep detail. Plus sciences like a good sampling size, so what's that? Like a thousand? But for now it’s just what I think water tastes like, based on consistency and what I hear humans say.

“So then I thought about the humans and their food and they have tons of options and many different flavors. They’ve got these groups of humans called ‘chefs’ and I thought that maybe energon would taste better if it didn’t go straight from being processed to us with nothing but our personal additives, but rather if we had a chef. We kinda had that before the war, right? Or maybe we totally did instead of kinda did, and I just didn't live decadently enough. Next time we can have a chat what decadent living meant on Cybertron, in-between testing our water samples. But that's not relevant now; what's relevant now is who here can be a chef? It’s not like anyone in this troop group has the current skills per say, which of course made me think of warriors trying to make tasty batches, and then I thought of Sideswipe. But he’d be a bad chef because you know he’d slip high-grade in there to whatever degree he felt like pranking. So then –”

“Okay!” Ratchet cut him off. “I get it; you’ll talk to me in a very annoying voice about literally anything if I don’t listen to Smokescreen.”

“ _And_ actually follow through with any agreements.”

Despite the situation Smokescreen mirthfully added, “And I’ll sick Blue on you if you don’t listen. Save my brother and don't rebuild him into the mech you think he should be.”

Ratchet let out a guttural groan. "You don't know what's wrong with him, before all of this." He waved backwards at Prowl's room to accent "all of this."

"Then tell us. We aren't backing out now or ever."

Ratchet glared at the pair and they glared right back. Prime suddenly loudly ex-vented, which isn't exactly an easy sound to miss on a mech his size. "Enough. Ratchet, work with them so you have a full picture and plan about what you're going into. Bluestreak and Smokescreen will keep in mind that these repairs don't lend themselves to being flexible to our desires. First and foremost is a successful reintegration of Prowl's spark. What does that look like?"

Ratchet finally broke optic contact with the youngest Praxian and turned to Prime. "I'll give you a list but basically there's the physical, the mental, and the spiritual. So to speak. Even if we got the shell to accept the spark to sustain it without burdening the spark, there's the problems of getting it to fully merge so all of Prowl's back in that processor. This isn't a sparkling going through the upgrade process. Sparkling's have more versatile and resilient sparks, especially compared to one like Prowl's. If I had to describe a sparkling's spark as an object, I'd probably call it a sponge because it soaks up the chamber's connections without wanting to let go a single drop. Mech sparks are about as spongy as writing paper.

"I'm fairly certain we can find a way to get his shell to provide the life supports for his spark once his spark is strong enough. I'm not certain if we can get his essence, for lack of a better word, to be a part of that shell. Sort of like his mind not really being all there, or his mind is there but he'll feel hollow from an incomplete reintegration."

Quietly, perhaps with more strain than my compartmentalized mind liked, I asked, "But you said the penitentiaries do this and you're mapping everything after them."

"Yeah, and they start things clean so reversing it is a zip. Nothing zippy about this. I will try as hard as I can. We will all try," Ratchet said quietly while indicating his two present teammates. Ratchet scrubbed his face for a moment, suddenly looking very tired as the angry tension in his frame finally bled out. “I’m going to need Sideswipe’s debrief.”

Prime calmly responded. “First Aid can provide you with what he said. I’m on the fence of keeping this off record or having an official debrief report and keeping it under the heaviest of lock and key. For now, we’ll keep it all off record. I brought Jazz here to tell you what he knows but this conversation has gone on longer than I can allow. We need to address this now before there's more online troops to start spreading rumors or fears. I'm certain it's already started with those I ordered out of my way to Medbay and their on-duty friends. At least they don’t know who was injured and the severity. For now, I want you to remotely attend my officer’s meeting from here. First Aid can debrief you until we start and then finish after the meeting. I will escort Jazz back here to make sure he finishes what he has to say. Evidently he has information that may be of use to you. Is that acceptable?”

Can I say no about that escort part?

Ratchet gave me a very shrewd look. “I can deal with that.” He cracked his back and joints and his gaze slowly moved from me to his walls. “I’m probably not leaving Medbay for a while. At least one medical berth is going to be a temp regular berth.”

“As I figured. I’ll comm. you when you’re to log into the conference room’s commlink."

 “Got it.”

Prime looked at Smokescreen and Bluestreak. “I’m sure you two want to stay here but for now you two are to return to Smokescreen’s quarters. Jazz and I will attend the meeting, then we'll talk to Ratchet to finish this conversation as I intended it, and afterwards I’ll deal with the twins while Jazz relays everything to you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they both acknowledged the order calmly. Bluestreak darted a glance at Ratchet.

“Good. Jazz, let’s go. I already comm.'d the remaining officers.”

Silently and obediently I followed. Neither of us talked out loud, both for confidentiality and because Prime was busy organizing the meeting over his commlink. While we passed a few mechs, none of them were yet aware of Prime or his trailing entourage blasting through to Medbay earlier. A little bit of luck for just a moment.

Soon Prime, Red Alert, Ironhide, myself, and two empty chairs sat in our conference room with the tightest security. Red Alert added extra securities and Ratchet had a heck of time accessing the room’s commlink. It didn’t help the Security Officer’s paranoia when Ironhide showed up a little late from his investigation.

Prime started. “First off, what’s the situation with the troops? I passed several on my way in.”

Ironhide answered. “On my way out I got bombarded with questions. I told them all to keep silent until the situation has been dealt with or I’ll knock silence into them. What gets Prime going that quick to Medbay doesn’t need them adding the speed of the rumor mill. I left it as vague as possible. What do we say, that Prowl’s on a vacation far away, turned off his commlink, and left his return date open ended?”

“No, of course not,” Prime said with a hint of frustration and absolutely no humor. “Thanks for spearheading that. Since you started the conversation, perhaps you’ll enlighten us with your investigation results?”

Ironhide frowned and clenched his hands. “Unfortunately it appears that Sideswipe was very honest.” His fingers slightly released from their clenched positions.

I almost dully asked, feeling a little surreal at this point, “Were you expecting lies?”

“Not so much lies as exaggerations. Not deliberate exaggerations but the memory kind. Like maybe the idea Prowl would behave like that made things seem worse.”

“And?” Prime prompted.

“And frag us, I mean it when I say I hoped for that but got an accurate portrayal by Sideswipe instead. There’s discarded boxes in the cave with some items they shouldn’t have, energon smeared on the rock, and this.” From his subspace Ironhide pulled out an energy blade trainer tool and turned it around, mindful of his surroundings, before turning off the energy field and setting it on the table. “I’ll be working on how this got here and what he's been doing with it.”

“Understood. Keep me regularly posted, progress or not. Red Alert, I’m sure you have plenty to provide.”

“Plenty. Do I have to keep to the 20-10 breem rule?” Red Alert asked about Optimus’s rule that Red Alert could talk for 20 breems and then answer any questions for 10 breems. It cut down his tendency to allow meeting scope creeping towards unplanned security discussions.

“Try and I’ll decide if you can ignore it.”

“Fine. I have begun initializing all of my plans for our highest threat level.” Red Alert began before launching into a very thorough coverage for about 25 breems of what his idea of security is at our highest threat level, as well as his contingency plans. While he hadn’t established anything for this, evidently he had plans for if any officer was out of commission for a while, or if an officer position was vacant through other reasons. He had a file on Prowl and how he recommended breaking down Prowl’s workload to provide coverage. Prime pointed out that wasn’t his job, to which Red almost smugly replied, “But aren’t you glad I did it anyways?”

Ratchet had a few inputs. I had very little, but as I thought about it the more I had to add privately with Prime regarding Special Ops. I needed to get a clear helm and there was one thing I had deliberately overlooked, from the start of this ordeal back when Prowl was first attacked, in favor of more pressing matters.

After nearly two joors since we sat down Prime dismissed us all with the expectation that we keep everything off record. We were to inform any curious troops that Prowl was under unplanned maintenance repairs that may have extended downtime due to material shortages. If they had more questions they would have to ask Prime directly.

Once again I returned to Medbay but as an escorted mech instead of as Prime's helpful TIC. When we got there Ratchet pulled us into his office. Everyone sat down and he began first by pulling out a datapad. “I’ve added everything that First Aid said about Sideswipe’s debrief on here. This and one duplicate exist so we can maintain methodical medical recording and isolate potential errors. These datapads can’t be accessed remotely and they’re from Red’s batch of ‘super-secret datapads.’ That means working with the encryption is as difficult as walking by a smelting pit with a bucket of ice and trying to keep it from melting, but it also means even Soundwave would find his skills sorely tested to try and get through the first ten layers.”

“Good. Then those will be the only records. I will inform the other officers that anything to keep their details on those datapads.”

“Solid,” Ratchet replied sarcastically. “So long as the traffic in Medbay doesn’t get insane, they can enjoy adding their details when my team isn’t using it.”

“Fair enough. How often will you need it, or rather how hard do you plan to work on getting Prowl online?”

Ratchet scoffed at Prime. “Does that really need an answer? I hope you are being rhetorical because _obviously_ we’re going to work ourselves into near stasis getting this done. I wasn't joking earlier about a temp non-medical berth for normal recharge. We'll rotate brief recharge cycles to keep from making mistakes. Despite how much I loathe Prowl right now, we all get that we need our tactician fully active before Decepticon activity. Be it here or Cybertron calling for his assistance.”

I pointed out, “All true but don’t work our only medical team into the ground in case an enemy attack does happen.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the ‘selfish’ part of working hard. We’ll have fewer casualties with him back at work.”

I darkly chuckled. “Yeah, that battle computer does come in handy like that.”

Ratchet’s mouth twitched and he flickered the datapad in the air. “I’ll start with the debrief. When Wheeljack and First Aid shut off Prowl’s systems they first ran a full diagnostic. While Red went on about security measures that don’t exactly involve me,” Ratchet barely paused when Prime gave him a pointed look, “I looked over the red flags in the diagnostic prior to the spark-attack. I tried finding any causes. Him shutting off the spark sensors meant that they didn’t collect data so bye-bye help there, but I did notice some incredibly unusual activity from his battle computer. I’ll have to investigate it, maybe even have Perceptor take a stab at it – no, I don’t mean that literally, Prime – and see how it comes into play.”

Prime, whose optics narrowed at Ratchet’s reuse of the word “stab,” smoothed out his facial expression. “Understood. Jazz, your turn.”

Great, having to fess up to something isn’t hard enough without Ratchet and Prime’s suspicious and disappointed looks. “I’m going to start this off by saying I told Prowl to recharge on it and if the problem persisted to go straight to Ratchet.”

“Oh,” Ratchet responded deadpan, “I do so love it when ‘bots start off saying things like that.”

“Prowl said he was having problems with the processor filters. Evidently he’d been misleading you about the filters.” Ratchet’s optic flare made me instantly thankful I couldn’t nervously gulp like a human. I am so going to suffer at my next scheduled checkup. “He didn’t like you calling it ‘Project Fix Prowl’ but the filters nullified all feelings so he hid it to keep you from changing the filters and letting it bother him.”

“Excuse me? How can he whine about me calling it as it is, thanks to him letting it get that bad to begin with?” Ratchet demanded. “How dare he – no, I am _not_ going for the bait. Continue.” That sounded extremely terse.

“That’s sort of it. The filters were ‘overly effective’, his words, and he decided to deceive you about that because he didn’t trust a project that implied he was broken. He was worried the sudden filter problems were from him lying to you causing inadequate coverage. All of that is pretty much his words. I told him to recharge on it, see you first thing when he onlined, and tell you if it still exists.”

Prime countered my claim of being a good mech. “You helped cover his lie.”

“He wasn’t feeling listened to by anyone else,” I defended. “Me telling everyone involved wouldn’t exactly be received by him favorably and it seemed I was the only one he talked to. He lied to me, too, but not as much. If I didn’t let him have control, what would’ve happened if he didn’t tell me about the filters?”

Ratchet ex-vented irritably. “I’d be missing important information now, but that’s hardly cleans your name in my book. There’s this thing called ‘discreet information transfer’ I hear this group called Special Ops knows pretty well. Maybe you should ask them.”

“Hey! _You_ are not discreet. If I told you then you would’ve confronted Prowl like a breem later, whether or not he was even online.”

Suddenly Prime growled. A light growl, but a growl none-the-less. “This is all unacceptable.”

“Sorry,” is all I could meekly offer for my part.

Prime gave a small wave-off in my direction. “I’ll deal with you when I have everything sorted out. For now we need to address the pair of brothers waiting on us before they do something stupid.”

Ratchet interjected, “You mean like Blue talking to me nonstop if I don’t give him what he wants?”

“If it actually happens we’ll deal with it then. Don’t dismiss them. I _do not_ need more problems.” Ratchet grumbled his acceptance to not add too much to Prime’s list of problems. I’m pretty sure he’s leaving himself a buffer of discretion, but like Prime said, a problem for another time.

Prime and I left Medbay and started our silent trek to the non-officers’ quarters. I think his silence is to keep it under wraps but there might be some undertones of what he might say to me if we talk right now. Regardless, we managed to make it to the hallway and split up without incident. A few mechs gave us looks and some even opened their mouths but didn’t say anything. After Hound, the third mech, I stole a glance at Prime and saw it in his optics and the surrounding tightness in the visible portion of his face. No one was going to speak to him.

When I entered Smokescreen’s room I found the pair alone sitting on the twin berths, Smokescreen’s roommate likely kicked out until further notice. Bluestreak immediately jumped up while Smokey quickly stood but remained in place. “Well?” Blue demanded. “Is Prowl going to be okay?”

“Honestly that remains to be seen but Ratchet promised that his team is going to work as hard as they can without putting Prowl or anyone else at risk by being loopy from lack of recharge. Maintain a safe amount of lucidness and whatnot. Blue, go easy on Ratchet.”

“Fine, but only if he makes a very sincere effort to not change my brother from who he was before this happened.”

“Okay,” I let that go rather than explain the issue over the definition of what ‘this’ is in ‘before this happened’. If Blue and Ratchet get out of hand then Prime can deal with it. “Next?”

Smokescreen had the next question. “Did Prowl really attack Sideswipe?”

“Yeah, Ironhide confirmed it after examining the site. He found the weapon used to slice up Sideswipe’s leg.”

“How bad was the attack?”

I hesitated. Do I tell them Prowl tried forcing a blackout from Sideswipe? Would they find out if I didn’t say something? Maybe. “Sides will be okay. He’s talking fine now. His leg is cleaned and patched so it can be fully repaired later. I don’t know when but I doubt it will be too long. His vocalizer was damaged from Prowl trying to force a blackout.”

Smokescreen visibly grimaced while Bluestreak flinched with intakes hitches. “Prowl wouldn’t do that,” Blue adamantly protested.

“I agree,” I reassured, “that the Prowl we know would wouldn’t do such a thing. Where this Prowl came from I don’t know. Ratchet is trying to figure it out because whatever happened to make our calm, cool tactician turn into a ruthless fighter is probably what caused the spark-attack.” I’m leaving out the self-surgery.

Blue’s lip trembled. “You think my brother already changed?”

Smokescreen added his reassurance to mine. “I’m sure whatever it is was temporary. He wasn’t like that before now so it had to be a sudden onset. Perhaps a symptom of something bigger.”

I was relieved that Smokescreen joined in keeping the situation calm. That is, until he comm.’d me. ::What other behavior symptoms was he showing?::

::What makes you think there’s more?::

Blue spoke without awareness of the second on-going discussion. “Does Ratchet have an idea when he’s going to have a rough sketch of the problem?”

::Pretend to think things carefully while talking to Blue,:: Smokescreen advised with a heavy tone. ::I’m not dropping this or letting you get away before you can be a slippery saboteur and avoid my questions.::

::How dare you call me slippery.:: To Blue I said, “Not really. It’s too early in his investigation. Give him five or six joors after Prime reinforces his ordered leave. I’m betting it’ll be at Ratchet’s next uproar.”

::You are slippery. That’s why you can get out of Decepticon hands so well.::

::Is that supposed to be back-handed flattery? Even if not it won’t work. Just say what you want about your theory.::

Blue tacked onto his previous question, “But Ratchet still has a plan, right?”

::My basis is that it’s we’re in a storm and hailing like flaming rocks from the Pit itself. I know enough about the mech psyche and my brother to _know_ what bad looks like with him. When they get this twisted it tends to be after he let them snowball on him. Usually he makes the original, tiny snowball and thinks he can control its descent without asking for help, and low and behold it slips out from his fingers and takes off. Do not push me with Prowl’s life on the line. I’ll find a way to make Blue’s threats to Ratchet look absolutely innocent and fun.::

Great, just fragging fantastic. I am pretty much at my absolute limit for a daily allowance of crap. First things, first. “Sort of, Blue. It’s pretty tentative right now. There’s no medical information available since a spark existing on its own without being locked up in prison is extremely rare in this war. Both in his spark surviving and the circumstances. Ratchet’s using all the material he can find.”

“Oh.”

To Smokescreen I finally and begrudgingly relented to some degree. ::Prowl was hooked up to Ratchet’s monitor to keep him from doing something stupid. That monitor you saw him with mounted to his arm deca-orns ago wasn’t for his processor; it was for his spark. Ratchet just replaced it with a tiny discrete monitor. According to Sideswipe there was beep just before everything spiraled out of control. Blue probably heard it. That was it sending an alert that Prowl turned off the monitored sensors.::

Smokescreen frowned behind Blue’s back. Out loud Smokescreen said, “When will we find out exactly what happened?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to take that up with Prime after both Ratchet and Ironhide have finished their investigations, and he can combine it with Sideswipe’s debrief. Ironhide is investigating all other matters, like where Prowl got that weapon he used to cut Sides.”

Bluestreak asked, “Speaking of Sides, you all worked hard to keep his information quiet. I’m sure Prime still wants it that way. We want it that way, too, so Prowl doesn’t come online and feel too exposed to the troops. What’s the official story?”

::Speaking of stories,:: Smokey began as he returned to our hidden conversation, ::is there anything else? Don’t hold back, either, because I’ll find out. First Aid is a very light drinker and can’t tell his lite high-grades from his hardcore high-grades.::

::You wouldn’t get one of your brother’s few life preserves drunk.::

::Not now. There will always be a later. Since you didn’t say ‘there’s nothing, so don’t get the medics drunk,’ I take it there is something.::

Blue’s optics started searching my face for answers so I verbally gave him the latest cover. “Officially it’s unscheduled repairs that might have him down for a while due to material availability restrictions. Any further inquiries are to be sent straight to Prime.”

I said to Smokescreen, ::You don’t know me.::

::I may be the divisionary tactician but I know enough psychiatry to figure out what makes mechs tick, and I know gambling plenty well to know mechs tells. You, sir, have given me one of your tells for something I know makes you tick.::

::That’s total slag.::

::Not,:: he countered. ::I’m not telling, either, so you can’t up and change it. What is it?::

::You know that you sort of already did, right?::

::Stop stalling.:: Smokescreen nudged Blue. “How about you and me talk and let Jazz go for now?” What?

Blue’s mouth twitched and skewed to the side in uncertainty. “Okay. For now.”

::Jazz, don’t think you and I are done. I just don’t want to have to balance one three-way conversation with a two-way. I can handle the two of you separately.::

I should shut off my commlink and disappear. I do have that plan I have to run by Prime and it requires silence on all lines. I just might have to run off and stay off the radar for a while anyways, with Prime and Ratchet not exactly loving me right now. “Take care you two. We’ll see each other around and get through this.”

As soon as they bid me farewell and the door closed behind me I got Smokescreen’s, ::Well?::

::Fine, you want to know what I haven’t told you?:: I snapped as I made my way to Prime’s office, knowing he’ll end up there after talking to the twins. ::That monitor I told you he turned off? Turns out he’s been turning it off before the attack, and he got away with it because he evaded Ratchet’s alert by performing self-surgery.::

A lengthy beat of silence was followed by a stunned, ::What?::

::Yeah, I was trying to spare you that. I don’t know what you’re planning with Blue but good luck because you have one royally screwed up cousin-brother that you’ve been covering for since the beginning of your life as family. Given I’m now in the hot seat for covering for Prowl when he told me he was having some filter problems but he didn’t want to tell Ratchet just yet, you might want to consider the ramifications of you covering for him as well.::

::Why – why would he go that far? I mean, that attack couldn’t have made him that desperate…::

::You mean Ravage’s? That hardly made an impact. Him shooting his own doorwings to get Ravage off did more damage that Ravage’s main goal. No, that attack lead to Ratchet, Prime, myself, and a handful of others finding out your brother has been hiding processor damage for a very long time. Turns out during his time in Kaon he took a hit that left him with permanent processor damage but the medic didn’t put it into his report. There’s your original snowball, if not before when his family took that ill-fated trip. That’s what Ratchet meant by fixing your brother’s damage and making him a ‘normal’ mech.::

I didn’t receive a reply from Smokescreen. Not sure if I was too blunt; not sure I care at this point. Seriously, at my absolute limit. I had to carry Prowl’s spark while he was in suspended death, then carry his basically dead body, listen to everything go horribly wrong, get in trouble for what I thought was a nice thing at the time, get interrogated by four different mechs, and now I’m probably walking into an aft-chewing by Prime so I can convince him to let me leave home for a little bit. Universe can go suck it.

I reached Prime’s office and hesitantly pinged the door. He can’t offline me or toss me in the brig now that he’s down one officer, right?

The door opened and despite my inner turmoil I stepped in confidently so I didn't look like a mechling in trouble. Prime's optics raised slowly from his desk. "Sit," he commanded, sounding weary as he leaned on his desk onto his elbows.

I obeyed. "How’d it go with the twins?"

"They're angry but smart enough not to be stupid in my presence."

"That was your intention for going there yourself," I speculated.

"Completely, along with putting the fear of their standing with the Autobots in jeopardy if they tell anyone." Prime suddenly cycled his vents quietly and leaned further over his desk. He rubbed his optics and then slowly cycled them as well.  "I hated doing that. No one should be scared that way just because they know something, but those two do tend to behave purposefully and accidently dangerously. I doubt they can look at a situation and see all the possible threats from speaking even three words. I also told them to not do something or let others do something that'll require Medbay assistance. I'm having Ironhide fish out those who might get in trouble and aren't friendly with the twins."

"What about those who are friendly with the twins but the twins probably won’t think to pass on the message before said mechs get hurt on their own?"

"Like who?”

Didn't even take me twenty kliks to give him names. "Assuming that a blown up Wheeljack won't be an issue during all of this, Trailbreaker and Hound might scrap themselves up good out there without getting a warning."

He half-nodded. "I’ll let Ironhide know. Advice like that is one more reason why I need you and Prowl. You know the mechs so quick you can immediately answer questions I can't, and Prowl can do the same since he keeps everyone's preferences in mind when he can for building schedules."

Prime looked straight at my optics and I kept my confusion at bay by remaining neutral in expression and posture. "I allow my officers a certain amount of discretion between one another because it helps keep healthy bonds. If every officer knew or thought they couldn't share a worry of theirs without their CO finding out, then those personal bonds might never really form and ideas while working together might be crippled by distrust.

"And sometimes I'd like to think my officers can come to me and ask for discretion when they're concerned for another officer but they don't want to raise a red flag. You should know that since I overlook some of the warnings you put out in your Daily Morale report. In fact, I've never called out a mech because of your reports to maintain that confidentiality. Maybe nothing would have happened if you told me after you got Prowl his energon, given the short fallout, but there's a difference between 'maybe nothing' and 'nothing.' Do you understand?"

I almost wilted when he pointed out that I should know better but by the end I deflated like a balloon. My posture was hunched over myself much like him and his desk. "I know 'I'm sorry' isn't enough for me being too quick to dismiss it. Yeah, I know that I didn't know how bad it'd already gotten, and I know you know that I didn’t know, but it doesn't take a medic to know there's something wrong if a mech is stressed out right after a surgery considered a success. Especially since the post-op came back clean, as evident with Ratchet kicking him out so he could drink his free time away."

"All true. I’m aware that you barely knew anything when you take it in comparison to what we know now and what we're still investigating. There's a difference between accidental oversight and deliberate oversight. You're somewhere in the middle. I won't hold it against you so long as you remember it for now on."

"Yes, Prime," I promised. I doubt he'll mean that if something goes wrong with saving Prowl but I can't dwell on that possibility.

"Good. Now, is there a reason you came to my office or did this conversation address it?" Prime asked as he leaned back in his chair.

"I have a different reason for being here. You know that Bumblebee and Mirage have been busy working Special Ops for the various concerns we've had. I haven't been working on my tasks for a while because I thought it was more important for me to be here. To be available to a key officer struggling and relying on so few for help, maybe even just me as the only one he seemed to seek out." I sneered at my previous self. "Aside from me being ultimately and maybe totally wrong, I want to resume some of my normal, non-routine, duties. One of my agendas include finding out why the Decepticons targeted Prowl like they did and how they did it."

Optimus studied me for almost a solid breem. "I need you here."

"I know it seems that way, but you gotta realize that’s because we don't know what they're silently up to," I firmly argued. "I can get that information to you while I get the data I need from their base."

"It's risky."

"So is hoping that we aren't missing anything critical while we go completely on the defensive for who knows how long. Besides, Prowl's attack was so long ago that Megatron's officers undoubtedly feel safe enough to toss it in their archive computer instead of the one for active nefarious plans. I can hack that one way easier."

"You'll have to hack the harder one to find out their current plans."

"And that will be on my way out. I want to resume my normal duties." I did my best to sound like it was a typical request for an operation but Prime kept studying me.

"How about we practice some of that honesty now?"

"Come again?"

Prime sat straight and then leaned back towards me. This time his posture was in-tune instead of exasperated. "Why now? Why do you honestly want to investigate the issue now?"

Aw man, he's got me in a corner after that earlier chastising. "Okay, look: I need normal. I don’t just need to do something normal, I need to be and live normal to shake this off. For better or worse, my normal includes sneaking into enemy territory. I also need a break from deca-orns of this whole mess slowly descending until it erupted all over me. I _thought_ it was slowly ascending overall but no. And I can’t get a break without first being away with an actual goal. As Special Ops, actually executing one of my back burner missions does all of that, plus it’d be nice to file something away as finished and not coming up again.” There’s your honesty, Prime. Now time to show me if you really meant it about unofficial warning markers.

This time he didn't take a full breem to reply. "Thank you for being candid. For 'keeping it real,' I think you say." I weakly laughed at his small attempt of humor. "For now just that one assignment. You don't anticipate it keeping you more than a half deca-orn, from the time of planning to the time you return?"

"No, assuming I can keep to the normal planning allotted time without my usual support, but I can always use a backup if I can't read through Prowl's meticulous notes and records over the matter. I'm planning to keep it as simple as possible by retracing old steps. Obviously it's super imperative I don't get caught now."

Prime shook his head. "Normally I'd make a comment about how everyone is important but you're right about the 'super imperative now'. Get some recharge first."

"Same goes to you. I'm sure Red's security and Ironhide's chase-downs will keep us safe for one recharge cycle." I offered a small smile and stepped out. I went to my office first and grabbed a few datapads for what I want to do, what I want to model it after, and the Special Ops schedule. Be it berth reading material or my next source for insomnia, I don't care. Finally feels like I’m doing something productive because it’s just me for the moment.


	7. Jazz’s POV: Laughter, Hacker, & Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) ~~DHQ = Decepticon Headquarters. I thought they named it Nemesis II but I found no proof of that so it's just DHQ.~~ A reader informed me that it was named "Victory", so it's been updated. :D
> 
> 2) If you don't know what a scraplet is, it is like a land-based piranha with wings.
> 
> 3) I'm using "AI" here to describe an entity's intelligence level higher than a drone but below self-awareness. IDW seems to define it as Automation Intelligence if the subject isn't self-aware, but that's from an argument Ratchet makes while pointing out the flaws in testing for self-awareness. Eh.
> 
> 4) I make no promises to be totally accurate on the hacking, only that I tried. FYI, Kernels are what control input/output of software, devices, OS, etc.

Eventually I did recharge but not before returning to my office and raiding the supplies Ratchet allows in my office for ensuring recharge before starting an onerous assignment, least we pester him at odd cycles for simple recharge aids. I wonder if he's going to let me keep my stock once I run out after all of this. I'm not the one playing doctor – well, okay, I'm not the one playing doctor without his permission. In this particular case.

I basically recharged through my scheduled shift but I didn't care. I didn't get in trouble, but it also helped that Prime stayed offline the whole time and Ironhide missed half of his shift after successfully derailing the rumor train. Luckily there was no other mech waiting on us to relieve them of duty.

I skipped my energon in favor of getting it later with fewer crowds in the Rec Room. Instead I went to my office and used my computer to pull up Prowl's reports related to my goal from Teletraan. After spending half of the secondary shift on trying to tactically plan a mission I nearly tossed my stylus at a datapad. As far as the mission goes I know what I'm doing because I've done it before, but I've never done a mission without tactical support. As much as I want to start the next stage in preparations I'm not okay doing it without tactical approval. Never mind the chances of Prime approving it without the additional review.

Before finding help I might as well get that energon. Despite it not close to the end of the secondary shift the Rec Room was pretty busy. And somehow relaxed? Is that Bumblebee on the couch with Inferno, Tracks, Fireflight, and Skydive, making fun of some comedy film? I made my way to the couch, stepping around Hound and Beachcomber. "Bee?"

"Yeah?" He looked back at me and the others quieted down, muffling their laughter in their hands.

"When did you get back from your assignment?"

"Several joors ago. I got what my mission needed ahead of schedule. Heard you were running late and I came here for a refuel. There wasn't a smile in the room and so I comm.'d Blaster and we agreed to change that as soon as he was off-duty."

I spied the room. "Where is Blaster?"

"Getting extra sound equipment. Everyone is in agreement that we throw a mini-party because why not? We'll start soon for those about to go on shift, secondary shift can jump in at shift change, and everyone else is staying up later than normal to have a chance. Sides is bringing his high-grade, sshh." He finished his sentence with a fake "don't tell" shushing.

"Ah, alright. I've got some hot stuff to work but I'll try and make at least an appearance if not an impression," I said with my usual Jazz-flare. My attendance is not happening unless someone spikes my energon with high-grade and happy pills.

"Okie-dokie. No pressure." Bumblebee turned back to the screen and laughed alongside with Fireflight. After I began walking back to the dispensary he unexpectedly comm.'d me. ::Don't worry, we got this. I don't know what Prowl's 'unplanned maintenance' means but we get you don't have time to convince our teammates everything's fine. We figured something was up when you missed your shift. My report is done but I haven't dropped off the datapad at your office yet because I got distracted by the negative energy here.::

::Thanks. I appreciate it.::

::No prob. Basically my mission went well. No Decepticon activity or signs of intent to steal the facility's data.::

::Solid news.:: I grabbed a cube, forced a smiled greeting to a few mechs but everyone became quickly distracted by Blaster coming in with a hovercart carrying extra sound equipment and lights. I made it to the far wall and relaxed for a few breems while sipping my cube and watching Blaster pulling in others to help set up, him using his own built-in speakers to play music for the meantime. Their self-appointed tasks of doing what I normally do is a big relief. I'll have to get Blaster something as a thank-you. I'll give Bee the upcoming New York City holiday assignment.

My mood took a slightly pessimistic turn when a loopy-looking Smokescreen wondered into the room, saw me, pointed at me and then my table, and grabbed a cube while watching me. He sat down with a large swig of his cube. "Yo," he said surprising nonchalantly.

"Hey, yo-yo. Where've you been that's got you so chill?"

"Twins' quarters, Medbay, here, twins' quarters, Medbay, here, and Medbay." He smirked.

"And to think I've been recharging for all but a handful of joors. I take it from your attitude that there's some good news?"

"Not in the way you're thinking, but along that line there _is_ positive news. There's progress but everything is moving slow." ::For cautious reasons, given, well, everything.::

::Let me guess, we're comm.'ing everything that's off-record and saying whatever is okay?::

::Yeah, because if we act real secrecy about Medbay then our sharper comrades will figure it out. Plus Red gave First Aid software for some serious over-the-top-of-the-line encryption and now every mech who knows and been up since ten-ish joors ago has this. I don't know if he's mentioned it to you?::

::No, but then as XOps I'm pretty top-of-the-line in all things encryption and firewall anyways.::

::He'll still get to you, wherever you are on his priority list.::

"Are you done with your shift or starting it soon?" I asked, changing subjects.

"Off. Prime gave Blue and me the shift rotation off, plus a few more. Neither Blue nor I have recharged yet. After you and us had our chat Blue comm.'d Sideswipe to see if he was feeling better, but the twins were more angry than anything. We ended up in their quarters and it turned into a drinking contest. Started with a 'who's angriest' contest and ended up as 'who's able to drink high-grade and play violent video games the best'. I don't recall who won because it wasn't me, but I've been sober for a while now." He shrugged.

"Yay for you four bonding?" Likewise I shrugged. ::Shouldn't Sides's situation be kept confidential? I'm not sure we ought to talk about that aloud.::

"Not sure if it's bonding or just enjoying a prolonged moment of no officers, demands, or problems. You think he's hiding that welding bandage on his leg?" he asked, blending his responses to my spoken and private questions.

"I haven't seen him since I got up. I haven't seen much except my office and Bee laughing over there on the couch," I replied going along with what was secret comm. worthy and what wasn't. He's the one who's evidently been online for all of it. He's right about appearances, too. There's at least four mechs in this room who'd notice Smoke and me being quiet, party or no.

"Oh, so you wouldn't know the latest rumor. Basically it amounts to Sideswipe pranked Prowl and that's why our SIC is down, but Sides slipped and cut himself good. Ratchet's mad about how Prowl's down so he's forcing Sideswipe to walk around with that welding bandage." With slight hesitation he added, ::By-the-way, his vocalizer sounded normal by the time he got out and mingled with the others. He and Sunny have the rotation off as well.::

"I heard he's bringing the high-grade. I'm amazed he has anything left." Ironhide and I don't really care about drinking outside of duty, missions, and times with elevated attack risks. Chances are Ironhide will crackdown as soon as he finds out about this by citing our third exception. I'd spearhead the problem before our resident vice-enabler arrives but it's better for the officer remaining here to wield that hammer.

"Totally," he agreed, "especially since they drank enough to get light hangovers. They were drinking before we showed up because they started off _very_ angry. We were more upset. We drank until we all came to an agreement." ::The agreement is between us four, but if anyone asks we're claiming it has to do with the rumors. We couldn't figure out a realistic cover story why Blue and I would hang out with the twins if they put our brother down for an unknown time.::

::And the real reason is just because you were all dragged deep into this at the same time?::

::The agreement being between us four is actually real. We aren't sharing it with those who know and we're hiding it behind the rumor for those who haven't a clue. All I'll say to you is since we're not allowed to react like we want, we're each handling the secrecy differently. I'm choosing to drink when I can't do anything. Otherwise I might get upset again and I can't let anyone know, so here's me developing a drinking problem! Might be an _Ark_ thing, though, if this keeps up,:: he added wirily while gesturing open-handedly at the party.

::That's total hearsay. I'd say we have a persistent, long-standing, fluctuating drinking problem and you've always been part of that. Soon Ironhide will be stopping another consumption spike before we have a drunken army trying to recall where they put their weapons.:: "So unless Blue drank himself into recharge and hasn't gotten back up, I'm assuming he's been in Medbay? How's he doing?"

His earlier smirk, which died a little bit while talking privately about his latest activities, came back in full bloom. "Funny you should ask. He'll be here very shortly," he answered with a little too much mirth.

Ratchet darted in with Bluestreak hot on his tails. Bluestreak was chatting away while Ratchet grabbed his energon and left so fast the last drops missed the cube completely. Mechs around the pair gave the whirlwind and his pursuer puzzled looks, but snickered as they finally made sense of Blue's inane words.

I held back the threatening chuckle. "Problems with Ratchet?"

"Right now I'd say problems _for_ Ratchet. There's a reason why I've been in and out of Medbay so many times."

That chuckle won and escaped my vocalizer. Suddenly I felt a little less anxious to pick up and leave the base. My shoulders relaxed from the tension I forgot they were carrying. "I'm surprised Ratchet hasn't gone for Blue's vocalizer yet." ::Are you sure you should be playing with fire with Prowl's life on the line?::

Smoke flashed one of his more devious grins. "Oh he did go for Blue's vocalizer after it became clear Prime wasn't available to help. He and Blue got into an argument about what 'fixed' means until Ratchet grabbed his tool for disconnecting a vocalizer. He chased Blue out of Medbay until bro made it to his quarters. While Ratchet was gone the rest of his crew's vocalizer tools went mysteriously missing, and shortly after he returned his did too. It happened while I was in the twins' quarters the second time, so Ratchet can't blame me because I have an alibi."

His devilish grin eased a bit when he answered my other question. ::Regarding Prowl's life, Perceptor's is taking care of his spark, Jack and Aid are training on a dummy shell for reintegration, and Ratchet is training on a mockup processor. So Prowl's life isn't on line but whatever Ratchet is planning to do that could fundamentally change Prowl is being practiced now; so no, we're not playing with fire but trying to keep it from starting.::

"Sounds like I've missed a lot." ::Never thought Blue could be like… like that. What do you call it? Being unnaturally aggressive?::

"Yup." ::At first I did but I've been thinking about it since he started doing it after my second trip to Medbay. I think it's unexpected because we coddled him for most of his life, even in war because of losing Praxus. Then again, I think losing Praxus so unexpectedly is why it's not so unnatural. He's going as far as he can to fiercely protect something vitally important to him so it won't change or be taken away. Most of it I'm letting happen because it hasn't turned detrimental yet.::

::Does he know what he's fiercely protecting, like in regards to what I told you?::

A scowl flashed across his face before his poker expression smothered it. ::You mean the real reason why Prowl isn't 'normal', as Ratchet says? No, Ratchet hasn't precisely said anything and I'm still trying to digest what you said before I decide on anything. Medically he might be broken or flawed, or whatever, but growing up he was first my troubled cousin and then he became my annoyingly strict brother. That's not broken, and Ratchet can't tell me he was flawed those times Blue and I snuck into his room to goad him into huddling with us in his berth while he held the tiny screen and we blocked the light to keep our creators from busting us on the banned movie.::

The image of three young Praxians trying to huddle together in the dark without knocking doorwings was just a tad too cute for my conflicted feelings towards the tactician to handle. "You got some time to help me decide on some things now?"

He slightly craned his neck towards me with peaked interest in his optics, my request disrupting what troubled trail his mind was no doubt wandering down. "I'm free for now so long as things in Medbay remain the same. I should attend the party at some point for good show, but I can do that after it starts. Looks like that's pretty soon," he noted with a quick glance as Blaster tested the lights and sound. "What do you need?"

"I got some tact-planning I could use an actual tact-mech."

"What for?"

"Let's go to my office and I'll explain."

We both tossed our empty cubes and made it back to my office as the Rec Room boomed with music and multi-colored lights danced out behind us. Blaster's idea of a mini-party means no official dance floor or officially approved bar. At my secured office we sat down and I locked the door. "Basically the plan is that I go to the _Victory_ and steal info, including what they're doing now. I convinced Prime that sitting in our chairs, clutching our guns for dear life should the Decepticons come knocking, isn't a brilliant course of action."

"Works for me. Granted, I'd prefer it if Mirage went instead of you but he's not back yet. The mission takes precedence over waiting for your spy's return."

"Exactly."

"Okay. What do you have so far and when do we present it to Prime?"

"Everything I have planned out is on here." I handed him my in-work datapad and pushed the support material datapads across my desk to him. I remotely checked in with Teletraan. "Prime's online now and since he's on the officer rotation for the tertiary shift, he should be moving about the base very soon. Scratch that, Teletraan's tracker says he's headed straight to Medbay."

"Ah, warning Blue now." Smokey's optics glazed over as he comm.'d his brother. At a bit more length than I expected he griped, "Blue's not backing down. Doesn't sound serious but more like both of them are being so obstinate that now they're arguing over arguing."

"Do you need to go?"

"Do I want to walk into an argument with Blue deliberately running his mouth and Ratchet's itty bitty morsel of patience stretched thinner than Sunstreaker's tolerance for scratches? No fragging way. Let's work until someone demands a physical appearance from me. I know Percy, Jack, and Aid are operating under the same idea and so far it's working."

Whatever happened in Medbay managed to either resolve itself or Prime pushed the dueling pair back into their corners. Smokescreen and I finished the plans before the shift's halfway mark and I requested Prime's presence in my office. "Hello, Prime," I greeted when he entered.

Optimus entered the door but didn't move more than two steps into the office. Not that it mattered since I locked it anyhow for privacy. "Jazz. Smokescreen?"

"Prime," the Praxian returned a bit doubtful. "Do you need me somewhere else?"

I reworded his question. "Smokescreen helped me build the plan. Would you like him to remain here or head to Medbay?"

"Here to explain the tactical side, there when we're done."

"Got it," Smokey confirmed.

We explained the plan in detail until Prime was content. "Thank you, Smokescreen. You're dismissed."

With him gone Prime asked, "I take it you'll leave very soon."

"As soon as Grapple will be ready for paint application."

"I saw him beginning to make his way out of that get-together in the Rec Room. You should message him now with the details."

"Will do. Thanks, Prime."

I pinged Grapple after Prime bid me a safe and successful hunt. He replied, ::Yes?::

::I have an assignment for you, top priority. It's in your assignment inbox. Are you on the primary shift?::

::I'm scheduled for the secondary shift but I'll work around it. Do you need everything at the beginning of the primary shift?::

I winced at the schedule conflict for him and I could hear a sense of relent towards recharge. ::Are you relieving anyone?::

::No.::

::Then let's meet about half past the primary shift start. You can work it as a split-shift. I'll update the schedule.::

::I'll look at your documents before I recharge and make sure I have everything.::

::Like my specialty visor.::

::I always have that ready. I can't have a bright blue visor on an art piece of whatever I need to blend you in with. Ruins everything.::

::Ah-hah, always with the priorities. See you soon.:: I closed the line and started wrapping up my office duties so I leave with the schedule corrected and all Special Ops data finished for the next half deca-orn.

 

|\/\/\/|

 

Complete repaints are tedious to those not obsessed with their finishes, but it's a total pain once it gets mixed in with nanite technology and thick minerals. The type of nanites he mixed into the paint pots changes shades among the pot's base color, kind of in the same manner that self-tinting sunglasses work. In this case there are three base colors: blue, brown, and grey. He set the shades and randomness patterns to mimic the seafloor supporting the sprawled _Victory_. Same went with my specialty visor, already sprayed for same effects. This visor has a few unique functions but what's more important is that it doesn't light up like a normal visor.

When all was finished, dried, and reacting appropriately, I thanked him and left through the "back door," or an unusable section of the _Ark_ connected to an empty lava tube.

The drive via backroutes to the ocean access point was as dull as the shine on my paint job. The paint changed shades as I drove below the late afternoon's overcast skies but otherwise it's a rather matte paint. Deep oceans and the _Victory_ aren't shiny bright places.

I closed all vents, drove off the small cliff edge, hit water bumper-first, transformed into bipedal mode, and allowed myself to drift down. My navigational systems tell me the undertow currents are taking me in the right direction. It's not exactly a short walk so the more the currents do the work the less energy I needlessly burn by walking and short-burst swimming. Unfortunately we learned some time ago that the _Victory_ 's long-range detection systems search for submerged bodies generating currents against the sea's undertow as the object moves. Autobots make more "counter currents" than fish and most sharks, but not as much as whales. Without a realistic fake whale to use like a submarine my team has to walk most of the distance. We all timed our walks and it averages half an Earth day each way, between the distance and jagged terrain. I always hope to get out of it by riding a real whale or swimming with a really dense school of fish. Too bad the _Victory_ isn't in the tropics.

To offset the boredom of the walk I make what fun I can. Whenever I floated motionlessly with the undertow I pretended to ride a slow whale. Mostly I walked and so I played with the fishes undeterred by my moving, non-biological presence. A few sharks went by unbothered. One ate my favorite green fish. It took me almost half of the remaining trip to get another to chase the fish food I plucked from the sea and let drift from my hands. Maybe I can eventually make my own school.

Alas, I didn't succeed before approaching the area the Decepticon's short-range scanners would actively interrogate incoming creatures for signatures. Hardly any sea-life braved the tingle of scanners looking for Cybertronian-based technology or beings.

While approaching the _Victory_ from the far shipside, thereby avoiding all other added building structures below the wedged ship, my approach also requires convincing the scanners that I'm one of the things it ignores. Between replicated experiments back at the _Ark_ and tactical review, we determined that the best solution is pretending to be rocks. I have to have the heat signatures and behavior of a rock so I can eventually access our safety spot, picked by me from Prowl's analysis of safe areas.

Prowl… nope, not going to think about him. I need to focus on timing faking an existence as a lump of collective thick minerals with the enemy's defensive systems scanner loops. Run when the scanner's sweep passes, drop like a rock when it comes back.

A cycle of drop, rock, and run got me to the safety spot, just behind the ship's aft where a big rock blocks the scanners from detecting 'bots our size and our infiltration entry point. It's covered by a fake rock for any Decepticons out for a swim. We named the rock "Todd," for "Totally owning dumb Decepticons," in part for fun and so the name doesn't stand out suspiciously in any reports. "Todd's place was deemed safe" catches the optic a lot less than "our super-secret infiltration spot right next to the Decepticons' warship is still looking uncompromised."

Todd covers the hole created and reinforced by our drones that dug a path from our entry/exit point to a _Victory_ airlock crunched against the seafloor. The airlock is big enough for us to get inside and then crawl into its air vent. No Decepticons or their defenses check that section of the ship because ship activity claims it to be merely offlined ruins.

After manually moving Todd, I hopped into the quicksand-like foam filling and let it slowly pull me into the air-pressurized tunnel. When my peds touched solid ground the sensors activated the built-in systems that Decepticon scanners can't detect from beneath the seafloor. The system moved Todd back into place, the lights came on, and I finished passing through the foam to rest comfortably for a refuel break. After I finished my energon and subspaced my empty cube I crawled across the chilled smooth surfaces to the airlock. I passed through the airlock and pulled up the map HUD overlay for my visor. I followed it to the vents for the ship level with the archive computer.

At this point the vents have security sweeper drones so I used the first air vent to drop down onto the cleared floor. I scrambled up some unprotected piping away from the security cameras and into the rafter-like ceiling beams. Normally ships don't have rafters but evidently sometime soon after the crash they pulled out the ceiling panels and left only the load-bearing structures. We think it's because the Seekers were going crazy being stuck with low ceilings and dark water threatening to rush in from the windows. Ironhide and I had a few discussions on how we might interrogate the Seekers with our speculations.

The archive computer is near the back of the ship so only a little zigzag climbing to avoid cameras later I'm above it. A handful of Decepticons passed below me but my paint nanites blended my colors closely to the wall shades and shadows. The riskiest color for detection became a blackened brown.

I dropped behind the archive computer and tucked myself into the tiny gap against the room corner filled by said computer. One of my peds ends up almost above my helm by the time I reached the computer's maintenance access panel inside the gap. It's the only spot that's out of sight for a passerby so I make do. Using my arm's special XOps hardline I plug into one of the maintenance ports. I set my infiltration visor to auto-scan so it continually searches for faces and key visual traits of Decepticon alt modes, and my audios to do the same with sound. I can't risk scanners; not even passive ones. Any visual or audio hits and I'll be immediately notified.

My full attention turns to the computer and my connection to it via a maintenance access point. Using a profile I setup after successfully phishing a few Decepticon maintenance workers, both on Cybertron and on Earth, I passed through the firewall. Accessing the event log I verified it was idle and I wouldn't be interrupting any activates and risking some internal alarm. I uploaded a Trojan-virus disguised as an out-of-sequence, routine-type update. In reality this new program would "find" a fault in the primary operator connection part, as part of the new "detection" protocols. The computer responds to the find by attempting to solve it, allowing me to observe the last detection and defense measures Soundwave implemented in this computer's blockpoint update. This computer is technically always out-of-date when compared to their primary computer for active plans, but it helps me prepare for that computer.

Meanwhile I do two more tasks: I initiate a database search for Prowl's attack file and a few other "incomplete" task items for me, while also uploading a second virus to erase everything I've done, am doing, and will do from all records when I disconnect. That includes the fault recording in the device performance logs.

When I was done observing Soundwave's latest uploaded counterattack measures, while updating a few manually and allowing my hacker tools to automatically incorporate others, I took a moment to overlook the database files for completion. Good, they're properly finished and stored. Essentially Starscream got tired of not being always being the smartest SIC on Earth (try never, Screamer). According to the file, Starscream sold his plans as a way to permanently destroy a battle computer while tearing up an integrated mech processor. I wish I'd seen Starscream's face during that battle after Prowl's attack.

I finished up, disconnected, and crawled up the gap back into the rafters. I meticulously checked every new change to my hacker tools; diligently making sure nothing's been overlooked or incorrectly interpreted by my programs. I'd rather spend an extended time suspended in the rafters over an archive computer than pretty much any other scenario involving a vital computer in a high-traffic area.

After a full joor of going through the changes line-by-line, I felt confident in the known variables. After _another_ joor of using new data to modify my anticipated challenges over the primary computer, I felt confident in the obstacles I suspect I'll encounter.

Time to head to the _Victory_ 's primary computer. There's an access hatch at the top of the computer for hardware purposes that I can partially use for concealing my presence. Even a minibot can't hide in it but I can get my arm inside the hatch without it popping up the access panel enough for a grounded guard to notice. The rest of my body gets smashed into the crevice where the frame meets the wall and my legs ended up practically wrapped around the one ceiling structural loadbearing beam in all six camera blinds spots. It is _extremely_ uncomfortable, but so is the Decepticon brig.

Once I'm in position and my audio/visual detectors are reset to automated protection, I slip my arm inside to access the seemingly isolated backup, backup processor device. This particular device improves the computer's lightning-fast performance when there's so much it's processing that it's no longer lightning-fast even with the other backup. Our enemy believes this is an isolated backup that can't be accessed unless the main computer provides it power and executes a start program. Maybe eventually they'll find the documents that say it turns on automatically from this port, or someone will physically check it for once, but until then it still powers up when I connect.

That bit of fortune ends about here. Some time ago I built and successfully downloaded a program that automatically initiates upon connecting to this and prevents the main computer from detecting the standby connection. As soon as I change it so the connection is active then the computer is no longer blind and everything becomes open ground. It's like being kicked out into the pitch night without night-vision and trying to run/drive across the open ground, knowing the field hides an undefined number of alarms and very hostile sentries. My offense hacker tools against Soundwave's defenses, except only I know we're playing, only he knows the true conditions, and neither of us knows what's in the other's team lineup.

_Aaaannd_... go.

Immediately I initiate my scrambling maintenance worker profile to prevent the computer from locking down on a profile and then verifying physical location via locators. It won't last long on its own before the computer concludes that the undeterminable profile falls under suspicious activity. The computer starts initiating the second-redundant device while seeking data from the tertiary-redundant one (mine) to analyze why the process occurred out-of-sequence. I can't stop it but my hacker tools automatically use an attack to give the device a false-read of faults and that the tertiary device kicked on to take its place. Immediately the device's internal security tools rush into play, demanding to examine every input and output and determine how a fault could exist...

...leading it straight into my hands. I know all-too-well that Soundwave likes to use library-based attacks and I know application-based attacks are the easiest to detect, so I go for kernel-based attacks. Very difficult to successfully pull off, but as long as Soundwave never fully realizes my preferred method, it's usually the safest. I do what I can to make him think he beats me at every turn through library-based attacks by constructing my attacks in layers so that if I'm detected I can misdirect what he uncovers, something my other hacker tools are working on dealing with should my first line of stealth tools fail.

When the secondary device input analysis come across my upload it executes the seemingly innocuous first lines of code; those lines quickly unwind its tight controls and allowed my remaining kernel-based codes to pass through for the takeover. Now with the two backup devices completely under my control, it was easy enough to change the input/output signals until the primary processor fell to my control, too. The primary processor no longer registers the strange input of my scrambled profile.

Victorious. Since Earth, Me, 19: Soundwave, 13.

Through careful string pulling I work my way through the system until I get to the active files. I search for the ones most actively accessed, most recent updates, and the ones with Megatron's latest signatures. I allow my tools to decipher what met which criteria for what we need, because as much fun as it would be to take everything, it's not like Soundwave's other defense systems won't eventually catch up after doing a historical analysis of the input/output and realize something's different.

My internal alarm chirps when everything my tools determine to be of use has been downloaded. I start the process of removing myself from all three devices until I completely backed out. I tried seeing if I could leave any malware behind to act as backdoors, but nothing came back as particularly safe from future detection.

I disconnected and removed my arm, feeling liberated as I slowly unwound from my twisted position. My audios, still on auto-scan, picked up a sound its program database associates with none other than the tapping of Ravage's metal claws on metal. Oh this is good. Either I can wait until he leaves so there's virtually no chance of discovery, or I can risk detection over payback for kicking a scraplet nest into the _Ark_.

I'm going with payback. There's a question I've always wanted to ask Ravage and that's if cybercats like boxes. I've seen videos of panthers and other non-domesticated Earth felines enjoying boxes. Since I always keep a couple of Cybertronian boxes in my subspace, and one is cybercat-size, I think it's about time to find out.

Based on the very close sounds and where I'm at in relation to the ship's floor layout, and the probability he's not here for the computer, I swiftly make my way to the hardware inventory section. I drop down and nimbly move to the half-balcony overhang. Using my smaller wedges and a combo tool for loosening floor panels, I pry loose an edge panel that runs up to the edge, between two bars making up the guardrail. I only loosen it enough to place my soft wedges under the panel's side furthest from the drop. The cybercat-size box was placed on top of the entire panel and I slightly popped the inside bottom face so the box doesn't look off-balanced from a knee-high observer's view. Instantly I wished I had catnip to put in the box, but that'd probably be a huge giveaway. Might have been worth it – if I wasn't caught. I'd really hate for the mission file to forever conclude with me captured due to detection of catnip; worse, my personnel file ending with "deactivation from utilizing catnip."

I dropped some inconsequential hardware supplies in the box to give it an apparent purposed existence and then escaped back up into the rafters a half breem before Ravage walked into the room. Without pausing to look around or over the balcony, he started moving beyond the box. Abruptly he halted and did a double-take of my box. He moved around it cautiously and I waited for a reaction, be it curiosity or alarm. He approached the box and the small voice cursing me out for my brash stupidity grew a bit stronger. I reminded it that I smelled like a rock and not like a Cybertronian, even to a nose like his.

Ravage tapped the box with his paw as he sniffed the outer sides. The box moved like a normal box. He peered in and saw the common equipment spares innocently roll with his push. After checking out the box he stepped in with one paw and used the other to check out the spares. He leaned forward to the biggest spare and at that moment the unbalanced weight caused the box to slide forward, sailing under the guardrail and over the edge. Ravage's back legs went flying up and smashed into the guardrail before he disappeared. Ha!

Grinning with all the contemptuous pride able to fit on my face, I moved before the stunned Ravage could regain his senses. A shinning piece glistened by the edge and I paused in mid-shimmy to peer closer, allowing my visor to examine it. The results came back with the identification of a broken back claw. I hopped down, grabbed wedges and my torphy, and pressed the panel back in so it wasn't as loose. I took off to the rafters and was gone before he got back up. I seriously doubt he's about to tell Soundwave about his fall takes to a box.

Back in Todd's tunnel after an otherwise eventless retreat, I settled down to read about their current plans. After thoroughly examining every plan, action item, task assignee, log, and remaining scheduled piece, I came to one conclusion and did the first thing that came to mind: I relaxed. They're very busy with an evil plot, so nothing new, but they'll be busy and vulnerable for almost three more deca-orns as they coordinate between _Victory_ here and _Victory_ on Cybertron. A synchronized attack by Autobots here and there will easily exploit the vulnerability and knock them back at least another deca-orn for recovery. If we and Cybertron plan this right, we have four deca-orns to get through our other issues.

I subspace the datapad and settled into the tunnel comfortably so I could get some recharge before making my trek back after dawn.

 

|\/\/\/|

 

My internal chronometer brought me online and I stretched until everything moved without popping or grinding, a feat of flexibility when confined to a tunnel diameter less than twice my body-width. I took my last full cube of energon, drank it, tossed it in subspace, and headed to the control panel for exiting via Todd. The controls started the countdown and a sudden suction force from above pulled me through the foam while Todd moved aside. When my hands clear the foam first I pull myself out the rest of the way and wait until Todd moves back into place, thereby also signaling the countdown is complete and everything but the one sensor is completely powered off again.

Another lovely joor of alternating my rock performances, of the literal sense, I freed myself of all but the long-range sensors. I started back up my casual underwater strolling and attempts to build myself a school of fish. After taking some extra time from nearly dawn until dusk to enjoy the several mini fish schools I had before finally moving too far for them, I made it back to my initial dive point. All things considered, this was a pretty fun mission. I didn't even care how I looked on my way back, or even the sea salt drying on my heavy mineral paint.

Cleaned and repainted correctly while donning my normal blue visor, I pinged Prime and he summoned me to his office. I entered with a laidback solute, "Salutations, sir."

His optics crinkled at the edges in a way that said he just smiled underneath that mask. "Obviously the mission went well?"

"Yes. Based on the lack of panic I take it Ratchet's team's 'mission' is going well, too?"

"Overall very much so, although real progress took a while. However, Ratchet does need something from you."

"Oh?"

"Yes, and when you're done with your debrief on your findings, we'll go there."

"Am I in trouble and getting escorted again?"

"Not yet." I heard the subtle laugh in his voice. "We're waiting on tactical support now. Smokescreen should've been here before you but he's been very preoccupied of late…"

Prime's door chimed and Smokescreen walked into the office. Prime said in lieu of normal greeting, "You were supposed to be here ten breems ago. How's the condition of Ratchet's quarters floor?"

"Plenty clean, sir. Ran into a brush shortage and had to wait on Grapple to finish cleaning the ones I went through."

"Are you willing to admit to doing it on purpose yet?"

"A mistake, sir," Smokescreen said with his usual poker face before sitting down. "Hi, Jazz."

I looked between the two, optics widen and weary under my visor. Prime glanced in my direction. "Bluestreak is cleaning the Medbay floors. I can't get him to leave Medbay without Ratchet, unless I'm willing to resort to locking him in the brig. A few times I almost did but Red Alert brought up how that might raise too many questions. Ironhide tried locking Bluestreak in his quarters while his roommate was out on patrol, but it seems his door malfunctioned." Prime gave Smokey a pointed look.

Smoke coolly replied, "Wasn't me."

"I'm aware the security cameras clearly and conveniently put you on monitor duty when that happened."

I realized I was lightly gapping at them and shut my mouth. "Totally confused. What's Smokey claiming is a mistake if he supposedly has an alibi?"

"You've missed out on a lot of events," Prime answered. "A few points during those event I wished that I had joined you. Let's first debrief on your mission, Jazz."

An image popped of Prime pretending to be a rock had me smothering my laughter against the back of my hand. "Sorry. Right, mission. We're good for now and at least a couple of deca-orns even if they get ahead of schedule. Their plans are on schedule for three deca-orns and if we time a surprise attack we can stretch to four, maybe five total. I'll send Mirage to go watch the Decepticons since I have their physical location."

After two cycles from dissecting all risks and opportunities, we formulated a plan using Mirage, tactical's continuous support, and Prime's coordination with Cybertron. Afterwards I told them about the reasoning behind Prowl's attack, which we all had a little bit of fun mocking Starscream and guessing what Megatron did to him when Prowl appeared perfectly fine the following battle.

"So," I started after the jokes at Starscream's expense subsided, "what seriously happened while I was gone?"

Smokescreen lazily flicked a doorwing, a shrug of indifference. "First, progress was slow because we were arguing over processor repairs whenever Ratchet took a break from theorizing and practicing on his model. Not a whole lot later Prime demanded that we all make amends. Bluestreak started talking back to Prime, because evidently he's gotten carried away with deliberately running his mouth, so he was sent on patrol. I offered my amends to Ratchet in the form of the smoothest mid-grade energon I kept under lock-and-key."

"So was thatoffer the mistake, or fake-mistake?"

Prime drawled, "The so-claimed mistake was more about the label on that energon cube."

Smokescreen tipped his chin downward and shrugged both shoulders with all the innocence a known-cheater could feign. "How was I supposed to know it was mislabeled and was really the mid-grade-tasting high-grade?"

I squinted at him suspiciously. "How 'high' of high-grade?"

"The kind the twins can't figure out how to brew but Sideswipe would sell Sunny's special polish to get the recipe and ingredients. Sadly, it came from a small group of possibly-mislabeled cubes and I have no knowledge on their contents. Now no one may ever know because the cubes are missing so I can't surrender them as ordered. But really, the label thing is a completely innocent mistake."

Prime, almost bored in tone and probably from hearing it again, asked, "And what happened after he partook in your offered token of peace?"

"I apologized for his blackout and hangover."

"Wow!" I barked with disbelief. "How is it I had the more boring activity by sneaking around enemy territory, playing chicken with their defenses, and recharging under their peds? Sounds like I had the safest spot around."

Prime dryly muttered what I'm pretty sure included the words "drama queens." Regardless of his incomprehensible comments, he neutrally explained what happened after Smokescreen's tricks. "Everything was shortly resolved after I learned of the hangover. Medical solutions were largely discovered through the others on the medical team. I suspect the solutions would have been found sooner but luckily Wheeljack, First Aid, Perceptor managed to maintain progress while silently listening to everyone's concerns."

"So Ratchet's role has been primarily, when away from two problematic Praxians…?"

"Ratchet has been precariously balancing his team's work with his and making sure nothing is overlooked."

Smokescreen jabbed, "We worked to make sure nothing was overlooked, too. We weren't being pains for the fun of it; we made sure non-medical concerns weren't tossed out and spattered on the highway. Ratchet's planned called for blazing down the roads as fast as possible without risking spark harm."

"And your concerns were heard and considered by the other medical persons. Ratchet did approve their solution," Prime pointed out. "Since we're on the topic of Ratchet and solutions, this would be a good time for Jazz and I to meet with Ratchet. Smokescreen, you're dismissed to return to your punishment detail. I'll be sending Bluestreak to join you."

"Alright, sir." Smokescreen left and I turned back to Prime.

I nodded at him. "Time to go find out what Ratchet wants from me?"

"I have him on my commlink now and he's ready for us. I'm also informing Blue separately to join Smokescreen or Ironhide will toss him in the brig, and we'll deal with the charge later. I never knew how fiercely protective he was."

"Funny, Smokey and I had the same conversation before I left."

Prime took another half breem before rising, stating Medbay was squared away for us to approach. As we walked we discussed the lighter topics until the conversation's nature crept into Ironhide's activities while I was gone. Our chat about him focused on him cracking down on the unruly mechs, assuming freedom while Prowl was offline, but I remembered his other plans. I privately comm.'d Prime, ::Did Hide finish his investigations on Prowl?::

::Yes. We can discuss details later but Ironhide did find that Prowl's been accessing some of your close-combat training programs for new talent and recruits. After review the output logs it appears he used them with the energy blade.::

::Well, then when Prowl's okay he and I are going to have words.:: I responded, both hopeful and annoyed. I'll take a look at that myself. ::Is Prowl getting punishment detail?::

:: _That_ has been an interesting challenge for me. How do you reprimand the SIC for something of this nature? And how do you implement it for someone who overworks himself and thereby lacks time or energy for any real punishment detail?::

::Oh, I could find a way,:: I grinned mischievously.

::And I did after listening to a very color story from Sideswipe. You and I can share a cube of high-grade over my ideas and see if you'd like to add anything. I've taken in everyone's input effected by this.::

:: _Everyone's_?::

::All but yours. We're here.::

When we entered the doors I heard, "Ah, Jazz! Finally."

"Ratchet," I returned as he lounged against the closest berth. It was a typical medical berth without any special modifications. "You summoned my presence?"

"Yeah, need your skills."

"Then I'm _reeeallly_ gonna need context here before I say anything else."

Ratchet nodded and led us to his office. We sat down and he handed me a datapad with pseudo-code logic and diagrams already open. "What am I looking at?"

"Those are the high-level details for Prowl's battle computer. The low-level details are included, too, but what you see is sort of like the preface section of a book."

"And…?" I prompted for more context.

"And we have a program to keep that computer from interfering with Prowl's reboot but we have some reservations about it. Pulling the computer out and then putting it back in when the time is right is dangerous, assuming all else goes well. Instead, we want info from it and then make sure our plan successfully installs and works so the computer can't boot up no matter how many times something tries to initiate it. Perceptor and I have a solution to both plans, but we want our main hacker to look at our programs."

"Hang on. You want me to hack the computer inside Prowl's helm?" I gawked.

"Basically. We're not certain we can do it as thoroughly as you. You'll see in that datapad why we want a hacker to look at it rather than just my medical knowledge or Perceptor's genius. Usually I just upload a code to disrupt initiation signals but his computer breaks those down soon enough after it receives power. Really all the code does is slow it down just long enough for me to check Prowl's primary systems without it impacting energy or fuel consumption. I don't want to start sniping lines inside Prowl's helm, either, to stop it from receiving power. So… we decided to enlist you. Everything you need to know that we could think of is on that datapad." Ratchet tapped the top of the datapad.

I scratched at my helm, banishing the inkling of a helmache. "I'm not comfortable with this."

"You _just_ hacked the Decepticon's hardest computer in their cozy, all-ensnaring throne-home to their leader. How is this beyond your comfort range? We can easily cover Prowl so you don't have to see his face, if that's something freaking you out."

The surgeon doesn't understand. I matter-of-factly explain what he's missing. "I hack tools, not mechs. You start hacking mechs, you're no longer a mission agent but a surgeon – or mnemosurgeon. I don't want to slice his processor, mind, or memories."

"It's not part of his mind and it doesn't store his memories," he argued back. "I'm not asking you to hack Prowl but a computer. You aren't taking over my job or dabbing into mnemosurgery."

"Calling something a computer among 'bots and 'cons and half of us will think of tools or mid-level AIs. This is a high-functioning AI that co-exists with Prowl at a daily, thought-based level. Kind of like a never-separating combiner, operating as a singular mind and body. I've heard horror stories about trying to break into combined minds. I'm not okay with messing around inside Prowl's helm."

"He and his battle computer aren't like the Aerialbots and Superion, or the Constructicons and Devastator. But that doesn't really matter because we aren't asking you to break anything. You realize we're asking you to keep it from ruining Prowl's chances of reintegration, right? I'm not asking you because it sounds like fun and I want to see if you can, I'm asking because we're taking as many obstacles offline as possible. We even crippled his logic center, plus a few other non-essential systems."

I groaned and put my head in my laps, my hands coming up to rub my temples. I so should've stayed with the fishes a little longer and forced them to find another solution. Maybe steal another one of Ravage's claws and then wear them into the next battle.

Prime softly added to the situation, "Jazz, I know you dislike interfering with Autobot lives unless it's to help the mech realize they need help. Even then you prefer a supporting role. Hence your Daily Morale report where you only notify those about to be impacted. Unfortunately, this is a situation where if you don't interfere, then something far riskier may take your place."

I considered Prime's words and then his presence. My voice muffled by my lap and hands, I asked, "This is why you offered earlier to talk about what I think of this situation while drinking high-grade, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You realize that a bad hack to a sophisticated AI is still a lot like a bad mnemosurgery to a mech, right?" I let that hang in the air for a moment while I sat back up. "I don't want to be responsible for destroying an AI, but it'd kill me to know that I ruined something such a fundamental piece of Prowl. If I compromise it, then I compromise his mind."

Ratchet answered, his voice eerily soft. " _For_ Prowl, not _of_ Prowl. It could be what ruins him. Horrible, I know. If it makes you feel slightly better, I can replace a battle computer better than reviving him if it fails. It's extremely difficult, but the alternative is nearly impossible."

"It's beyond horrible. Humans say 'stuck between a rock and a hard place,' which is just _ha_ -larious because I literally just got back from pretending to be a rock in a hard place. How long do I have?"

Prime encouraged, "Hopefully as much as you need. If you wanted to take a whole deca-orn, then we'll make do."

"I'll see what I make of this datapad. Let me go back to my quarters and break it down without someone hanging around my shoulders. If I don't think I can do what you're asking, then I won't."

Ratchet nodded. "Don't hesitate to ask Perceptor or me questions. Perceptor's recharging right now, but he'd take a break for this."

"A break from recharge? One look at you says you and your team probably haven't been getting more than the bare minimum. I'd prefer to avoid doing something so harsh to Percy."

Ratchet grunted. "It's been harsh time, although there have been some random bits of fun. Aside from his brothers driving me nuts – nuttier – and me wanting to weld them to the lower levels, they're input on Prowl's 'punishment' has been very entertaining. So is Sideswipe's. Half my reason for bringing Prowl back complete is just to see his face when he finds out what he owes them and me."

The CMO suddenly started sniggering evilly. "Wheeljack and Perceptor added their inputs in as well, but First Aid is being too good and just saying, 'I only want Prowl back online and complete. That's good enough for me.' Bah. Such a poor sport, not joining in the team spirit of how to make Prowl never forget the lessons we will teach him. I keep asking Prime to let me to find another lesson on Aid's behalf."

"No," came Prime's deadpan answer.   

"Oh come on! I am low on recharge and that's when I'm my most creative. I like to think of it as a state of being deliriously uninhibited in creativity, my fully functioning mind would otherwise feel too repressed to consider."

"Still no. I don't ever want to foster growth from that side of your mind."

"I'll think carefully on mine," I said with a very brief snicker, followed by subspacing the datapad. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go add to my list of reasons to make him pay penance to me. Prime, you and me sometime soon." I left with Ratchet laughing menacingly over Prime's insistence he go back to his quarters, cackling about how he's going to push the boundaries Prime put on what they could do for a punishment.

I snatched an energon cube from Rec Room without being noticed by its few occupants and snuck back to my quarters. Turning on one of my few remaining recordings of Cybertronian music, I laid back on my couch so I was closer to my main subwoofers. After a few breems of scrolling through the data I thought about everything that happened and mentally worked back until I ended up at the beginning. I pulled out Ravage's claw from my subspace and slipped it through my fingers, nimbly keeping the razor-sharp edge from cutting me. I went up against the Decepticons' most sophisticated computer on Earth, I went up against Soundwave's toughest firewalls, and I was better than him and it. I managed to steal a claw from Ravage without detection in his own territory, a moment of more luck than I've had in a while. If my new-found luck holds out, then with my skills and supporters I can do this.

|/\/\/\|

"Ready, Jazz?"

"Hardly, Ratchet." I said with my visor offline and Ratchet having hooked me to whatever port that gave me direct access to Prowl's battle computer. Perceptor had me hooked up to another machine for him to remotely monitor my actions in case I needed quick input. Basically I was the driver and he was the passenger; there for support, navigation, and quick calls a driver doesn't have time to evaluate.

Anxiously I kept slipping Ravage's claw between one hand's fingers while keeping it out of their sight. I spent half a deca-orn going over every miniscule detail with Perceptor and Ratchet, comparing notes and my existing programs. We built several from scratch and modified others. After a few simulated tests it was time. "Okay, send it power."

Suddenly I was inside Prowl's mind, or rather at the interface between his (absent) mind and the computer. Wow, when Percy said the computer would forcibly draw all possible data in, and thereby possibly sucking my conscious with it, he wasn't overselling that.

I hung out for a moment, my consciousness letting the turbulent streams of input and output pass around and even through me. First I needed to make sense of the organization structure, since it was interacting with me a bit differently. Usually I work through my tools as if I'm a commander and they're my soldiers, wading upstream to either charge forward and surge the source, or gain enough ground to redirect the downward flow where ever I want it to move. This feels like... I'm not sure what it's like. I've never felt this before. I don't like it.

I "hear" Perceptor's voice urging me to execute a particular code and I do so immediately. One of the input streams slows down and I'm able to hitch a ride without the threat of being consumed by the processing rate. Perceptor's and my hybrid tools are making headway and setting up roadblocks here and there, while sending certain data downstream into Perceptor's computer. About two-thirds through the planned efforts a crushing pressure sensation caught me, bombarding me with intrusive data. It's the battle computer and it demands to know what kind of anomaly I am.

Another one of our hybrid programs was built to address this very possibility of me being interrogated, designed to stall it long enough before it kicks me out, or worse. The "worse" being whatever it was that the battle computer was doing during the attack with Sideswipe. Perceptor kept uttering the usual sciencey-disclaimers of "not enough data" before finally saying what he thought; the battle computer had the capability of discretionary infections and had done exactly that to Prowl.

My hybrid code told the battle computer that I was a medical emergency program designed to assure the glitch didn't harm the battle computer when triggered. I'm here to help it keep being itself, that's all.

Two breems later the pressure returned and suddenly I felt like a virus was trying to inject itself into my conscious. No!

I fight back with all the tools I can but it slows down the attempt. Desperate I try something I've never bothered doing before. I "say" to the computer through command codes, "Stop! I'm Jazz, your friend."

The attack stops, but I can feel the presence looming. If it were physical, it would be holding an injection needle next to my neck while pinning my head back. After a tense several kliks it returns with, "Query: Program type? Property-definitions: Program is User. User-type definition is Entity. Query: Entity's designation? User-Entity input: Jazz. Input Status: Accepted.

"Query: Jazz's purpose? User-Entity input: Friend. Input is invalid. Parameters undefined. Query: Jazz's purpose?"

After a moment of me revealing in what was happening I realized it was asking me, no longer solely processing. "Parameters of Jazz: Autobot, comrade, officer, trusted source," I replied. "Always trusted source. Parameters define 'friend'. Parameters define Jazz, parameters define 'friend' from library. Jazz equals friend."

"Action: Seek library definition of 'friend'. Results: No direct associations found. Jazz does not equal friend."

Ouch. "Query: library definition of friend?"

"Friend: Prowl."

"Query: Do you have a name?" I asked, not entirely sure how to ask the computer how it sees itself if not as Prowl. Strange that a library definition is an explicitly defined object rather than a variable with set parameters. With a definition like that, only Prowl can be its friend.

"Jazz's query: Designation of This Entity? Results: None."

"You're an entity without a name? You're an entity? Like self-aware and all that?"

"Jazz query: This Entity is self-aware? Query-type: Boolean. Results: False."

"So you aren't self-aware, but you are aware you are an entity of some sort; you just haven't defined what it means for you to be an entity. So what, you're existence-aware but not self-aware?" This is why I'm not a surgeon or even a first-level medic.

"Jazz query's state: incomplete and near unintelligible."

Oh, hey now. It's one thing when Prowl teases me about being too simple-minded for some obscure tactic, it's another for his AI to call me dumb over basic definitions.

It continues, "This Entity exists to protect Prowl. Prowl defines This Entity's existence. This Entity is to give calculations, simulations, data-interpretations, and strategies for Prowl. Prowl executes This Entity's results to protect Prowl and Entities Prowl marks important. Default Entities marked important: Autobots, Family."

Did it sound a little sad halfway through that? How is that possible? "Query: This Entity Sad?"

"Jazz query: This Entity emotion? Results: Null. Algorithm 'Emotions' results in error, for This Entity is undefined."

"Good to know, I guess. Well, as fun as this has been, Jazz needs to go as soon as This Entity won't hurt Prowl when Prowl comes online."

"Query: Status of Prowl? Detection Status: Error. Ping rate: One-hundred pings per klik. All ping results: Error."

"Yeah, you wouldn't be detecting him no matter how often you try. Something happened, Entity, and Prowl is offline. Like, really, really offline. I don't know if you have library definitions for it, but basically Prowl had a spark-attack and had to be physically separated from This Entity and, um, This Shell. Or whatever you call his body. Prowl will be brought back, but because our algorithms for saving him aren't fully defined, we need to stop as many input parameters as possible until all debugging processes have been completed. Entity, you are too many input parameters. We need you to not be an input parameter until Prowl exists without error." I explained to the best of my Jazz-to-AI capabilities.

"Query: Library, spark-attack. Results: 219 definitions include terminology. Analysis of library results: Prowl terminate."

"No, no! Prowl not terminate. Prowl's very much not terminating right now, but he might if you don't stay offline after I leave, and stay that way until the medical team bring you back online."

"This Entity exists to protect Prowl. Query: Jazz accept data transfer?"

"Sure," I replied. "What data?"

"Jazz Query: Data transfer details? Results: This Entity's purpose and actions to protect Prowl at last event."

"That's good. Medical really needs that. You're doing something right, Entity, to protect Prowl. What was so special about Entity during last event?"

"Jazz's Query: This Entity's Action Log and logic during previous event? Results: This Entity protect Prowl. This Entity execute actionable programs, not submit to data-results-only existence. This Entity execute stored algorithms for actively barring harm to Prowl."

"Sounds mighty interesting, Entity." Honestly, I didn't even understand what it meant but I could decipher one thing. "Sounds like Entity is kinda proud of that."

"Jazz Query: This Entity emotion? Results -"

"Yeah, yeah. Entity not have emotion," I replied, almost flippantly as the data transferred neared completion. It was slowed down somewhat because it has to pass through me to Perceptor. "Entity does not have name or emotion but Entity defines itself as a being, despite not being self-aware. Entity's purpose is to work fully to protect Prowl, giving him what he needs to be safe and for him to keep Autobots safe. It just sounded like Entity was kind of proud to stop harm from reaching Prowl while being less passive than normal. Maybe Entity is sad when passive but pleased when actively keeping Prowl away from danger. If so, then Entity has to promise me that no matter what, Entity will not engage Prowl until the medics engage Entity first."

Almost ten kliks passed with silence. "Action: This Entity expand definition of This Entity defense measures. This Entity defends against This Entity until Prowl contains no more errors."

I add, "The error-free report is to be defined by Perceptor or Ratchet, not Prowl or This Entity."

"Jazz Query: Accept addendum to This Entity last modification? Results: This Entity accepts addendum."

"That's great, Entity. Kinda crazy getting to know you, especially since it almost sounds like you're on your way to becoming self-aware."

"Jazz's Query -"

"You aren't self-aware, I know. You just give yourself an assignment on how you'll act, but you don't see yourself in a way that needs a designation. Not that designation makes one self-aware, but it would be easier during debugging if we didn't have to keep saying 'This Entity.'"

"Jazz Query: This Entity define new parameter of This Entity for efficiency and to protect Prowl?"

"Primus, yes. If you are capable of giving yourself a name, that'd make everything more efficient in protecting Prowl and barring against the possibility of his spark from being rejected, or vice versa."

"Jazz's Query Results: This Entity define new Parameter of This Entity. This Entity is now designated as Barricade."

"Nice to meet you, Barricade. I take it you name yourself Barricade as a reminder you're there to protect Prowl?"

"Jazz Query: Barricade's primary purpose to protect Prowl? Query-type: Boolean. Results: True. Barricade will always keep Prowl safe."

 

|\/\/\/|

 

My mind returned to my physical surrounds and I powered on my visor, looking straight at Perceptor. "Success?"

Perceptor glanced at me with a small smile despite his tired optics. Ratchet disconnected me from Prowl and stepped next to me while I re-spooled the line. "The data successfully transferred and I just tested the programs. The battle computer received power but it did not come online. I'm continuing to let it run as an extra measure but a cursory evaluation indicates a complete success."

Ratchet hissed, "Yes!"

I cycled my vents, feeling the cool Medbay air. "So you're ready?"

"Almost. Ratchet and I will need to go through the data and make sure we have everything properly scrutinized, but otherwise yes. If there's nothing we missed, then we could be ready in a few joors."

"Then good luck and don't forget to let us know when you're ready."

Ratchet snarked, "No way, we're keeping this a surprise, because I want to end up on Prime's slag list just like my moronic patient."

"Speaking of that patient, did you guys get that conversation between me and the AI?"

Perceptor shook his head. "Not after it transferred the data. It's not unheard of battle computers 'speaking out' to seek input when the mech, such as Prowl, is missing. I'm not worried about it being a problem."

"It promised to not be a problem."

Ratchet laughed. "Yeah, okay. Well, pardon us if we ignore that and keep to our plans. Now get out, we've got stuff to do that no longer requires you here to ask questions."

Six joors later, Prime, Blue, Smokes, and I were in the Medbay waiting area while the entire medical team was in the fully locked down surgical room with the two halves of Prowl. Ironhide and Red Alert were making sure that nothing interfered. The twins were last seen occupying themselves with video games in their quarters.

Smokescreen had a brotherly hard grip on Blue, whose doorwings were twitching like an anxious butterfly. Blue held a datapad modified to work like an Autobot-sized tablet so the pair could watch movies. The sound was routed to their audios. Prime and I both had work sprawled across the table, each of us sitting at opposite ends. I listened to my own music while Prime made no implications he was listening to anything. How he can work long stretches and _not_ listen to anything I will never understand.

Supposedly the procedure would be relatively quick, largely because it was a one-shot chance. Ratchet said what would take the longest, should it at least initially succeed, is making sure Prowl was truly there, between their efforts on spark reintegration and processor repair. I'm not exactly a praying mech, but I silently asked Primus for Prowl's safe and whole return.


	8. Prowl's POV: Primus's Answer

My first lucid piece of awareness was the muffled sounds of whirling and chirping machines, followed by a cool berth. The sounds and touch brought enough realization for grounding so I could online from what felt like a prolonged stasis, but my efforts were only half rewarded. I waded through the strange sensation of partial consciousness until something started poking my right wrist and knee in an alternating pattern, with the pressure increasing each time.

My optics finally powered on and very pinched-looking Ratchet towered over me. The alternating pressure taps ceased. Behind him I could partly see First Aid, Perceptor, and Wheeljack. The three all moved slightly, glancing at me and machines beyond my line of sight.

Ratchet opened his mouth... to make noises. I rebooted my audios. He did it again, speaking without communicating. His hand, still holding a small pointing tool, waved in front of my face. My optics followed his hand and when it returned to his side, Ratchet once again emitted noises. There must be too much medication in my system because his attempts at communicating are clearly not processing.

Ratchet exchanged looks with Perceptor. The scientist looked down at a datapad, scribbled something on said datapad, and then better approached my vision. He flipped his datapad and it read… something. Far too much drugs. Why did they put this much in my system before bringing me out of stasis?

The pair in my vision’s forefront looked at each other at length, expressions I couldn't distinguish crossing their faces, and then more incomprehensible noises were exchanged. Wheeljack approached, wheeling a small stand and stopping beside me. Perceptor hooked up the datapad on the stand so it stayed within my field of vision, presumably for me continue try reading it. He and Ratchet disappeared while Wheeljack sat down next to me, his fins flashing while his mouth plate moved and new noises began.

After lazily allowing my vision to drift around the room without physically moving my head, evidently restrained somewhat with wires and probably more devices than I can physically detect, I decided to tune what I could out. I powered off my optics and audios. A sharp poking against my cheek immediately started, much like the earlier poking to my wrist and knee, but I ignored it.

It’s quiet inside my helm. There’s no chatter from my battle computer, my spark, and no information coming from my logic center. Even my internal chronometer is offline. Without something to focus on internally and being unable to understand most of the external world, I considered what remained. My doorwings are completely still, or rather, not exhibiting any output; the stillness is probably from excessive medication. The input sensors on my doorwings are turned down significantly to the point of near blindness.

I pondered trying my vocalizer but until I can understand words I didn’t see a point. Rather, I focused on acquainting myself with the silence. Despite my lack of social outings I’m not used to being in complete silence. Even before I… I… Why am I here?

Someone started poking the back of my helm and then accessed a nearby medical port. Shortly after the internal silence ended as the familiar chatter from my logic center joined me. With its presence my drifting focus on my unaccounted situation renewed and clamped down on figuring out the situation. Logically they wouldn’t bring me online with such a high dose of (sedative?) medication in my system that inhibits me from reading or comprehending medical instructions. Logically the silence of everything down to spark indicated there were changes to my processor, which was logical because Ratchet was planning on making modifications to the impaired area of my processor. While without the battle computer we couldn’t calculate actual odds, it was still obvious that the most likely situation was that too many changes occurred that it’s impeding my normal thought process due to altered wiring and whatever else.

From that prospect the most logical conclusion was simply that I needed to remap my processor, down to command executions. After tediously drawn out efforts of working through that, while ignoring the occasional now-jab to my cheek, I onlined my optics. Wheeljack half-hopped in his seat while I looked beyond Ratchet's poking pen almost in my optic and read, “Can you read or hear? Cycle your left optic for reading only, cycle your right optic for both.”

I cycled my left optic and Wheeljack’s fins light up. “He can read!” At his words I cycled my right optic and he excitedly added, “And hear!”

With some caution I corrected his statement. “Technically I could hear before now, but I couldn’t comprehend. The words simply weren’t registering.” I expected the usual post-stasis vocalizer static disruption but instead my vocalizer sounded smooth as if new. Strange.

Ratchet held up his small poking weapon. “Quiet, Bane-of-My-Existence. Follow my reflex tester with your optics.”

I obligingly followed the tester pen up, down, and all various directions, complacent in knowing he'd give me context to his tests when it was logically best suited. Until that time I needed to assist him as necessary in determining my condition, or at least speed this up.

After Wheeljack pulled the datapad away Ratchet moved the pen further away from himself. When he reached across my chassis, my optics in pursuit, a harsh cracking noise instantly brought my optics back to Ratchet’s other hand and it’s hand-held sound emitter. He murmured approvingly, “Good, reflexes to movement and noises are normal.”

First Aid, standing above my head, quietly stated, “My suspicions appear correct.”

Perceptor, also somewhere above my head, chastened, “ _Our_ suspicions appear correct.”

Ratchet briefly gave them very pointed looks before moving away. Scathingly he replied, “Forgive me if I got a little carried away with being as careful - neigh, entirely medically cautious - over my patient's wellbeing.”

Silently I used his facial expression and words to re-familiarize myself with facial and body language. Somehow that was an oddly difficult task, grasping and labeling emotions, including those I surely knew.

Wheeljack's fins light up as if Ratchet's tone and words went unheeded as the engineer patted my shoulder. “Percy and Aid thought you might need your logic center to fully work through the changes. Ratchet didn’t want to risk a crash so we originally had it off.”

“Why would I crash? Why are all four of you here?” Come to think of it, if Ratchet did alter my processor like he intended to do, then why don’t I recall reporting for surgery? Realization finally dawned on me that I’m missing memories. I tried digging around for them but my efforts come back more muddy than anything.

Wait, “muddy” is slowly unveiling something. One of those obscured memories included some mud on after my peds dug themselves into the ground. What does that mean? My last clear memory is me working in my office. Somehow I went from a clean, dry Cybertronian environment to driving my peds into an organic world's anti-vehicle paste. I tried bringing my battle computer online but I received only an error message.

My efforts stopped when the motion of Wheeljack’s optics instantly darting to Ratchet caught my attention. The engineer didn’t say anything but Ratchet tersely replied, “Mute it, Prowl. I’m working here.” How oddly rant- and curse-free, given that tone. At least it was a little easier for me to catch and categorize that behavioral tone. Hopefully the first step in an overall positive trend rather than a single instance of improvement.

I allowed him to work without further questions from me, pushing and prodding parts for reflex reactions, and manually turning on and off sensors for reading checks. Wheeljack quietly but happily chatted to me about some new tools he acquired, pausing only to assist Ratchet where asked. Near the end Wheeljack’s rehashing of his inventions started to taper off.

Between Wheeljack’s pauses First Aid offered, “Don’t worry, Prowl, Perceptor has signed off on all Wheeljack’s new tools and materials.”

“I’m not worried.”

First Aid leaned over my helm with a curious glance. “You don’t feel any worry or something else at the potential of an unchecked device of Wheeljack’s?”

“No. If Wheeljack can talk about his experiments without interference from others, or without Ratchet regarding him like a walking time bomb, then logically his devices of topic have already been deemed safe.”

“True, makes sense. Still, you've been at least concerned or worried before despite that.”

Ratchet’s prodding to my ankles stalled almost suddenly.

Perceptor finally crossed into my view with a scanner held over my chassis. “You feeling any concerns over why you are here?”

“I am waiting for an explanation.”

“But are you feeling any anxiety, relief, fear, or something else?”

“No. I discovered I have some memory loss but I managed to gain some insight without too much struggle. I will likely regain those memories when someone explains them to me. Until then, I’m not worried because logically I am either well or will be well, given that I am able to function and I am clearly well watched over. I see that the _Ark_ still has powers and walls, and there must not be any other Autobots with medical concerns if all four of you are here.”

Wheeljack squeezed my shoulder tightly. He dipped his chin and flashed his fins apolitically. Softly, he corrected my logic-driven assumptions. “I’m sorry, Prowl. We’re just worried about you since the accident.”

“What accident?”

“The one that left you a mess and deactivated Blue and Smoke.”

“WHAT?!” I shot straight up and grabbed him by the shoulders, almost oblivious to all the cables and attachments nearly ripping off my plating. “What accident? Tell me everything, right now! What’s – ”

“I lied!” Wheeljack cried, pulling his hands up to push me back. I refused, even with my shaking hands and everything tightly pulling at me the opposite direction. “I just thought that something that’d get a severe reaction would be a better test than scanners and questionnaires! They are totally fine. Really, _totally_ fine. Operating probably better than me, even.”

“You _lied_ about the permanent deactivation of my brothers?” I snapped, resisting Perceptor’s and First Aid’s firm attempts at pulling me back flat on the berth. I ignored them as much as I ignored the hot flush of rushing energon and pounding spark. “Why would you do that?! What’s happened? Because I do remember something about mud and then you say something about an accident! Ow! Ratchet, _stabbing_ my ankle strut is not professional and completely unacceptable of a CMO.”

Ratchet put his tools down and pushed me off of Wheeljack while Perceptor and First Aid kept pulling. Finally I lay back down but everything remained tense as my thoughts raced to figure out the rest of the mud memory.

Ratchet pushed against my chest and helm and sternly ordered, “Relax. Right now. I can see your neck cables practically about to pop. Everyone, just… Everyone stay calm. Wheeljack, don’t do that again. His ankle strut nearly severed some of my fingers when you made him jump.”

“Sure thing. I’m now at my quota for surprise scares, heh.”

Perceptor glanced over his scanner and mused, “Perhaps Ratchet just set the new filters way too high. It would explain how Prowl just went from entirely too calm to nearly murdering Jack.”

I growled, “What new filters?”

Ratchet glared at Perceptor. “Oh, I am once again _so fragging sorry_ that I went for as cautious as I could. Maybe _you_ just miscalculated and my settings would’ve been fine. Everyone mute it. Prowl, I’ll explain the filters when I get there. Just stay calm, which might be too easy once you come down from Jack’s stupid surprise.”

He was right; once my racing energon and spark calmed to a normal rate I was almost immediately at complete ease. Perceptor set the scanner on top of my chassis and went back to his tasks. First Aid poked around my helm a few times, double-checking scanner readings with his own verifications. Ratchet tasked him with checking my doorwings and setting everything to 25% detection levels. Every now and then Perceptor joined him and then ran the scanner across my chassis.

Finally the CMO declared, “I’m satisfied that Moron here has normal reactions, both reflexive motor and sensor-based. Perceptor, what about the readouts?”

“Clean and functioning either optimally or within normal range.”

“Ready for the stress test?”

“Yes.”

“Is that truly necessary? My body appears fine.” I asked. Leaving soon would be ideal so I can see proof of Wheeljack’s deception.

“Yeah, it is and we’re doing this for other reasons than just your frame,” Ratchet retorted. “It’s the only way to make sure your stupidity doesn’t win out once things get tough. Oh, and along the lines of preparations, I want his logic center off. He’s clearly done remembering what words are, and I don’t give a damn what others think about my _oh-so-_ excessive cautiousness, I don’t want the risk. Aid, turn it off.”

“Why?” I asked, adverse to the idea of total silence inside my helm again, no back up to seek.

“Because the CMO said so. Perceptor, slow-start the stress test. Aid, shut off his logic center.”

As soon as I felt First Aid’s hand near my helm my hand snapped up and grabbed his. Ignoring all the wires pulling at my arm, I very calmly stated, “You will not. _Now_ I’m starting to being bothered by all of this medical invasiveness.”

First Aid tried tugging his hand out of my grasp. I refused. “Ratchet?”

Ratchet’s optics lit up and suddenly it was like watching a volcano erupt in slow motion. “Damn it all to the fragging Pit, Prowl! You want to know what’s going on?”

His arms flared out in anger, hands thrust in the general direction of the machines. “You were very nearly deactivated from a series of system failures! We are _trying_ to keep everything calm so we can make sure one way or another that everything functions within normal expectations, and also that you won’t just keel over and die from stress or the weird aft slag that happens in our lives. We calculated that if you onlined you’d be at least eighty-percent okay but that doesn’t mean you’re safe or even fully operational.

“So your memories aren’t clear, your default emotion is total indifference, and your logic center is going to be shut off – yes, it _will_ , and you _will_ let Aid’s hand go. Don’t you dare give me that shrewd look. We’re going to stress test your body first. And then if all that passes and a few other tests that _I_ deem mandatory for you to leave, _then_ you get to know what’s happening. Is that understood?!”

Meekly I replied, “Affirmative, CMO.” As demanded I released First Aid. The smaller medic deactivated my logic center quickly and then moved over to the machines.

Soon I felt the test’s first stages taking place as my core temperature raised above normal range. After several physical stressors passed, some barely (usually followed by a chassis burn and a suspicious reaction from at least one of the four), they dropped my core temperature below normal range and repeated the same. They were looking for signs beyond what I could deduce on my own but Ratchet ended all contemplations on asking. His tight optic corners, pressed frown, tense shoulders, and general lack of acknowledge of me beyond my tests were all signs of something I usually saw with crumpled frontliners, compromised agents, and the otherwise unlucky. Of the few mechs I ever bothered learning their behaviorisms or emotions, I eventually pinned this one down as the CMO’s signs of suppressed fear. After mentally jotting down a note of another successful emotion-detection of others, I focused on the mud memory and tried finding bits and pieces of other associated memories to figure out why.

When my systems and temperature returned to normal, Perceptor, Wheeljack, and First Aid started obligingly removing connectors as ordered. Ratchet pulled up a small orb and held it close to my nose. “You see this?” he started. “There is one just like it nestled in with your spark. It does two things: one, it providing energy and minerals for your spark to keep it stable while it adapts to be in a body again.” I tilted my reclined helm and raised an optic ridge. “Yeah, you heard me right – ‘again’. What’s your last comprehendible memory?”

“Working in my office. That hardly means anything as far as ‘when’ it occurred.”

From my side Wheeljack suggested, “Talk through what you were doing. Helps me when I get caught up in experiments only to later on realize I didn’t record what I did.”

Perceptor muttered, “That explains a few things.”

“I recall Jazz leaving my office while I returned to work to start the second half of my shift,” I revisited an earlier memory, figuring that to be easy starting point. I talked through the various reports I recalled reviewing, much to the visible frustration of Ratchet, until I remembered non-routine reports and started slowing down. “… and after that report I completed the ones on the latest field exposure assignments for the Minibots. Then… then I got a comm. message from Ratchet. You wanted me to report to Medbay. You had sensors to replace. Spark sensors.”

I halted verbalizing my recollection. The memories began rushing as recalled calculations and simulations jumbled together. “I'm uncertain after that. My memories involve my battle computer and without onlining it they're difficult to pick apart. Perhaps I can online it now?”

“No!” snapped their chorused denial, Ratchet being the sharpest.

He added, “You shouldn’t be able to do so anyways, since we uploaded blocker programs into it directly. They keep it from activating even at your command.”

That explains my failed attempt. I looked around at them, lifting my helm slightly. “Can I at least sit up?”

“No,” the CMO gruffly denied, accentuating his point by firmly pushing my helm back down again by my chevron. “You are not doing anything more than what I decree the bare minimum. Right now that’s figuring the state of your ability to recall memories.”

I waited a moment, watching his expression. When I saw the signs of suppressed fear return I asked, “What do you mean my _ability_ to recall memories?”

“Mute the questions and talk.”

Normally I’d dryly point out his flawed command but I’d rather just skip to the end. “I don’t recall anything particularly coherent after that. Of the few details I can make out, I can see my peds in mud and gravel, Sideswipe’s smirking face, Sideswipe’s grimacing face, and then being somehow cold while yet burning on the inside. Primus, what did Sideswipe do? Did he trigger the system failures?” Sideswipe, disjointed memories, and an unplanned Medbay time usually means he caught me in a prank. Generally he doesn't try offlining me permanently, so whatever caused the “series of system failures” was probably accidental. I’ll still reprimand him for whatever he did anyways.

First Aid began, “As crazy and unbelievable as it sounds – ”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Ratchet interrupted. “No influencing his walk through memory lane. Not before I get to drive all over it, dragging him by along on a chain _._ ”

Ratchet's turning ominous. I elaborated somewhat on my request. “There's not much else that I can decipher on my own. I think Bluestreak was there at some point and I was looking up at him, but it’s hard to tell. It’s a bit blurry.”

Perceptor “ah”-hummed before asking, “Blurry like looking through falling coolant?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Why? Did something happen to him? Wheeljack, you said he was fine,” I accused.

“He is! It’s not what happened to Blue, it’s what happened… uh, _around_ Blue?” Wheeljack shrugged at Ratchet.

First Aid spoke a bit louder than normal, actually cutting off Ratchet. “Perhaps we should be less cryptic in our attempts to verify he’s alright for now. I’m sure everyone would like Prowl to walk out of here before Prime finishes the reports he brought with him to the waiting area. His brothers already nodded off once.”

He glanced at me and offered a smile. “I’m keeping Prime up-to-date with key information via commlinks. He mentioned that part about Blue and Smoke during the first stages of the stress test.”

Our controlling leader snarled, “Fine! Perceptor, Wheeljack, you two watch monitors. Aid, you watch him. Prowl…” Ratchet crossed his arms and leveled his full glaring wrath at me. I could see the subtle facial and bodily twitches slowly emerge back from his earlier explosion. “The reason you probably don’t really remember anything is because your processor doesn’t want you to remember that you nearly killed yourself with stupidity. In your particular case, this stupidity came in the form of a spark attack. That’s right, you had a spark attack. Do you know _how_ you got to that point?

“Because I’m pretty sure I do and it starts deca-orns ago with you LYING TO ME AND MY TEAM, GOING SO FAR AS PERFORMING SELF-SURGERY TO _KEEP_ LYING!”  His entire body seized up before lurching forward as if to shred me into new parts, stopping just shy of actual contact.

Fear started radiating in my spark and the bubbling into my mind. This time, though, undistracted by panic or anger, I realized there was a sense of emotional singularity between my spark and processor unlike before. Some of the fear ebbed away from my wonder but it wasn’t entirely replaced.  Ratchet’s words kept playing on my audios. How did he find out? How did it get from him planning to replace sensors to me having a spark attack? How did I _survive_ a spark attack?

I concentrated working through what I could remember or deduce, steadfast ignoring the twitching in Ratchet’s hands and face. If my last clear memory was him planning to replace spark sensors then he’d expect to see his spark-sensor alarm system… Flashes of memories in my quarters blurred in the back of my mind but there wasn't much in terms of actions I could pinpoint. I have an idea of what I did, though, since I kept my contingency plan for such a situation in my quarters.

I don’t know what to tell Ratchet about it or everything before then. My battle computer had 38 simulations on how to handle Ratchet in case of detection, and 109 in the case his medical team was present, all of which I can’t access.

“What, no ‘sorry’?!” he demanded.

“I am fairly certain any apology I can come up with will somehow anger you more.” Plus while my actions were entirely my own and I owe them my life, I’m not completely sorry about every decision I made. I’m displeased and confused about the outcome turning into a spark attack, and I’ll probably be sorrowful as the details return to me, but I’m still not completely apologetic about everything before then.

“Sodding, fragging, glitch-driven slagger… I ought to reformat you into a snow blower, lock your T-cog in the new alt-mode, and – ”

“Ratchet!” Wheeljack protested, his fins flickering brightly.

“I am not glitch-driven,” I firmly rebutted, ignoring the cold tingling in the back of my neck still lingering from the news of my near permanent deactivation. “I am neither controlled by the glitch, nor require being fixed beyond a few physical faults. Inconvenienced by it, not controlled by it. I’ve crashed less times from it in the past vorn then our emotion-driven warriors have bashed apart each other’s helms from prolonged low enemy activity.” I ignore the ultimately-false threat; it’s better than the earlier signs of suppressed fear. At least he’s no longer too distracted by my near-death to address me. How oddly cheering.

Ratchet, meanwhile, hotly scowled at Wheeljack as if I hadn’t spoke. The engineer didn’t fold, keeping his posture straight and directed at Ratchet. I am especially rubbish at reading facial expressions with a faceplate, Prime aside, so whatever battle of wills the two are engaging in is beyond me. They’re probably using their commlinks.

Slowly, almost slithering backward like a coiling snake, Ratchet withdrew and stood upright by my side. Darkly he prompted me, “Why don’t you start where you FELT – felt… the need to LIE and…” Ratchet trailed off after two false-starts of near yelling.

I ex-vented. “As there’s mechs waiting for me, I’ll keep this quick so we can wrap it up. I disagreed with you and took the would-be-impending and repetitive argument out of the equation by eliminating the parameters.”

Ratchet made a derisive snort-like sound before begrudgingly speaking. “If that’s going to be your attitude, then I’m going to put this conversation on hold so I can properly ruin your life without Prime probably cutting me off halfway through. Know that Iam so far from being done with you that snipers can’t see the end. I’m not the only one, either. You owe something to everyone you impacted by making _very_ poor decisions. Namely, you owe us four, the twins, your brothers, Prime, and Jazz. Since Prime is also keeping in account that all of this slag happened because you broke numerous regulations, he’s made a decision about how you owe us.”

Suddenly Ratchet’s expression turned from sour to devilish leering I usually only see on an overly-confident Sideswipe. I felt the twinge of fear and dread simultaneously in my spark and my helm. That strange emotion consistency is no longer so wonder-inspiring.

He cackled after the smile finished spreading creepily across his face. “Prime decided we all – that is, everyone I listed plus Hide and Red – could submit our own punishment or restitutions requirement for his review. While Prime rejected a few of mine and numerous ones from Sides, plus a couple from Sunny, he has ultimately approved a sort of one-on-one punishment/restitution detail for each of us.”

My optics widened. “I don’t have time for twelve additional duties.”

“Oh, I _assure_ you, you do. Prime made a very detailed schedule that’d impress Ultra Magnus. Didn’t know he could. The things a mech learns, like where the SIC is such a control freak he’ll risk accidental suicide over conversation points, and the CO can out-administrate even Magnus when he can’t recharge or leave the base. You’ll find out as part of your punishment detail from him. For what it’s worth, it’s eleven. Aid decided to decline.”

Ratchet’s evil smile flashed disapproval at First Aid before returning its full smugness at me. “Let’s do the tests for motor control and balance. We’re putting off transformation testing and alt-mode performances for your next appointment. We’re going to run you into the ground. _Medically-speaking_ , of course.”

Wheeljack and First Aid pulled me up while Ratchet’s self-righteous expression slipped back into his doctor mask as he supported my back for his poking and prodding for automatic doorwing balance micro-movements. Once I was sitting they put me through several tests for moving off the berth, walking across the room, and several other mobility tests that I’m pretty sure were more to make me feel silly and slightly embarrassed. I wasn’t but I strongly suspect it has to do with the filters they mentioned earlier. Handy.

“Congrats, you’re now fit for walking out of here,” Ratchet snipped. “There’s just two more things: my medical discharge orders, and then a couple of pointers about your filters. You aren’t going to be left alone until I say it’s safe. Op already assigned Prowl-watch duty. No work before your next checkup, refuel if your reserves drop below 80%, and get a full recharge. Your next checkup appointment isn’t scheduled yet. You or your sitters are to call me as soon as you're vertical, or have been online for ten breems. Whichever comes first. As for your new filters, Perceptor could explain that better to your level.”

I turned to the scientist, my expectations thrown somewhat at Ratchet’s handing off the opportunity to squeeze in another exiting rant. Perceptor nodded. “While we were repairing you and working on a solution to your situation, as I’m sure Ratchet will later detail to you at extreme length, Ratchet was able to devise a plan to fix your processor and Wheeljack was able to fabricate the tools. However, your brothers were very concerned about your mental wellbeing over such a sudden change and voiced their issues.”

Ratchet grunted at Perceptor and made a few disparaging comments. We both ignored him. I asked, “What does this mean?”

“In essence you have the same emotional detection controls as before but the physically healthy version. You have normal spark sensors now and the dead circuits in your processor are repaired. Ratchet and I installed a couple of new components that will allow you to continue controlling how much you sense emotions. Currently it’s at the setting with the highest filter bands, or the setting that allows few emotional responses to pass through the high-low bounds and thus to your awareness. You can detect ‘highs’ like the desire to murder Wheeljack, and ‘lows’ such as personal loss. Not all extremes are negative, of course. There was some concern over what you might miss since we suspect you’ll have a propensity – at least for a while – for the stronger filters. I added some logic to allow more positive emotions to automatically pass through to you. An example is if a spark flare associated with happiness occurred, its detection by you would be 10% greater than any negative emotion at the time.”

He pressed his lips thin. “I’m aware it sounds strange but you aren’t a scientist or a communications mech. An example would be if you had the filters set at 100%, like now, then only extremes of negative emotions could be detected – _but_ , if it were a positive emotion, you would be able to detect it if the filters were set at 90%. I can always set it so positive emotions are easier to detect but at the moment it seemed 10% was a good starting point to ease you into it.”

“Ah, thank you? I believe I understand enough of what you said. Curious, wouldn’t 100% mean absolute filtration, or no emotions passing through onto me?”

“We concluded that the previous lowest of zero emotional input was not optimal so we theorized what a 100% setting would entail and still be acceptable to you and us.”

“By ‘not optimal’ you mean…”

“Not nearly as effective at undermining our hard work through effortless lying,” he answered flatly. "As far as what defines the settings, it’s all based on theoretical calculations and spark-behavior driven logic. Unfortunately it appears my theoretical calculations were a little bit off on what 100% might be for real application. Hence our concern and why Wheeljack thought to aim for an extreme emotional response. We’ll later go through the process for real-time setting changes but you may figure it out on your own. Everything will work at your own discretion on what level of emotions you're willing to allow yourself to detect."

I almost rebooted my audios. "In other words, you changed the scope of ‘Project Fix Prowl’ so I get to decide on what ‘fixed’ means beyond physical damage and worn parts?”

Perceptor tilted his chin outward and considered my questions with a curious glint in his sidelong optics. “That is another way of putting it.”

Ratchet shifted his weight on his peds to look me more squarely in the optics. “I have problems with leaving something like that to a moronic self-involved slagger, but I lost that argument so I did my damnest to make sure it went as well as it could.”

I nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’m uncertain how to properly express my gratitude for you all saving my life and not forcing me to be someone else. As trite as it sounds, words can’t possibly adequately describe my appreciation.” They really can’t. I've been trying to find them ever since Ratchet said spark attack. I can’t think of any way to express my gratitude without physical demonstrations.

Ratchet huffed his vents as if quickly dismissing the moment, least it turn emotional. "Aid, inform Prime and his company that Prowl is almost out. Then take R&R. Perceptor, Jack, you both go take R&R now. Prime approved it earlier. I'll call you all when I need you.”

The three bid their well wishes and collective "glad to have you back" before leaving for whatever they needed to relax before recharging. Ratchet waited until we were alone before launching into a very harsh tirade. “You are the dumbest fragging, moronic, self-centered aft I know, let alone of the ones I call my ‘part-time friends’, or mechs I don’t ever see myself getting overcharged with but wouldn’t want to force self-stasis to be around off-duty. I both want to lock you in here so you can never do something like that again and continue existing full time as a part-time friend, but at the same token I kind of never want to see you again.

“HOWEVER, as I’m sure this will be a rough readjustment period for you, I will be nice enough to give you these.” He shoved a bottle of medication in my hands. “These are for a few dreamless recharge and I expect – no, I DEMAND that you take them as soon as you’re about to recharge and again until you run out. I will not have you lose recharge from seeing memories while your processor defrags them. Got it?!”

“Yes, Ratchet. I promise to take these as soon as I settle in for recharge.”

“Good, because if I don’t see full recharge stats next time I see you, then I just might really lose my temper.”

The walk to the waiting area was somehow long and short. Each stride next to a tense Ratchet seemed to last but every glance from him back down our walking path had the waiting area wall leaping closer. What do I say to Prime and my brothers? I'm almost pathetically helpless without my battle computer's aid in simulated the scenarios in what likely conversation topics will likely occur, in what order, and to what capacity. It may not have comprehended emotions of others particularly well, save pressing certain individual's hot buttons like an irate Wrecker, but at least it helped.

Almost the exact moment my ped stepped inside the waiting room a weight instantly tightly secured itself around my body, arms barely avoiding my doorwings. "Blue," I murmur, relieved to see him even if Wheeljack swore up and down he was fine. Just beyond his doorwings stood my other brother. "Smokescreen, I'm - _omph_!" suddenly there was two bodies tightly pressing themselves against mine.

After allowing myself to minutely relax into the warm feeling permeating from my chassis, I pulled myself out of the moment when I nearly rested my helm between the two buried into my shoulders. Glancing through the gaps between two sets of doorwings, I saw Prime standing behind a table of stacked datapads, his shoulders relaxed and his helm held high, like he does whenever we escape with zero casualties. On the far side of the table is someone else, blocked by doorwings. I move my helm slightly and suddenly greeted with a sight of a stilled and faintly smiling Jazz leaning against the chair. He's here? No one ever mentioned him. Suddenly my spark skips a pulse and I feel a little light-helmed. That may be from the two tight and unrelenting hugs.

When is the appropriate time to ask for a physical separation so I can address everyone? What do mechs do for making decisions if they can't use on-demand historical trend analysis to determine the statistical likelihood on carefully disengaging with minimal complications? I don’t want to upset Bluestreak or Smokescreen but I can’t recall by myself how long they usually need to get their pain off their chest before it’s okay to ask them to take a step back. I dislike not knowing that.

My visual focus wanders a little while I look for clues until it stops at the corner of my optic where Ratchet stood, watching us three. His hardened optics softened before his doctor mask slipped back on.

He coolly nodded at Prime. "Optimus, I'm sure First Aid told you everything he could, and I just wanted to reiterate that Prowl appears to be himself, within the context we've turned off his battle computer, logic center, internal chronometer, and several other non-critical systems that may impact how Prowl handles his normal schedule. Keep that in mind when you schedule his time and activities. I'm keeping him on full medical leave until I'm confident his risk of deactivation is what I'd expect of a normal Autobot SIC and strategist stuck with our lot of crazy mechs in a war-active environment."

"Very good, Ratchet. I will keep you inform on my plans so we can determine the best schedule for medical needs and Autobot concerns. Do you require anything from me?"

"No, I'm going to finish writing up my documentations," Ratchet paused briefly with a weird optic flicker back at me, "and then I'll recharge here in case someone else does something stupid and needs immediate medical attention." He turned on his heels and left, never one for goodbyes or well wishes.

"Prime," I acknowledge with an awkward helm tilt. "Bluestreak, Smokescreen, perhaps you can let me go so I can address Prime properly?"

"No," muffled Bluestreak.

"Not until it's time to walk out of here," Smokescreen agreed with Bluestreak.

Prime let out a short, soft chuckle. "Prowl, you and I will be meeting briefly before you report to Medbay for further clearance testing. We have several items to discuss, and while I intend for our main conversation about these events to occur without Ratchet inpatient waiting, there are some details best discussed before you meet with him again."

"Does it have anything to do with the punishments Ratchet mentioned?"

"I had hoped he wouldn’t fail to follow orders and keep that to himself for the moment. Yes, we'll cover that since I'm sure Ratchet won't hesitate to tell you as soon as he clears you. I'd rather tell you before he gets carried away. For now, you'll only be subjected to the restitutions your brothers require. It happens to go hand-in-hand with them fulfilling Ratchet's requirement that someone be with you at all times. They'll explain it to you."

I peered at the two helms still buried in my shoulders. Blue didn't look up but Smokescreen did and for a moment and I saw the cocky gambler's look of unabashed triumph.

I looked at Jazz, his face his usual nonchalant expression. "Jazz?"

"Yeah, Prowl?"

“First Aid didn’t mention you were here. You’re okay? You aren’t here waiting for Ratchet to see you when he was done with me?”

“No, I’m here to see if you were okay,” he said with a softened smile.

A tiny flutter in my chest and my body felt like it was being pulled up. “Ah, well thank you for your concern,” I lamely replied, trying to push down the distracting detection of emotion. “All of you, thank you for your concern. I’m sorry this happened and that it pulled so many of you through unexpected tough times.”

Prime nodded. “We’re just happy you’re okay for now. We don’t want to tire you out, and Jazz and I have to notify the affected parties about these reports. We both agreed to finish writing and examining the reports here so we could see your recovery with our own optics.”

Jazz also nodded. “Yeah, wanted to make sure you were leaving Medbay on your own two peds. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“You’re leaving now?”

“Yeah, well we’re switching up some Decepticon activity watch so Prime and I can’t put that off until the primary shift starts.”

“I see. Please be safe.”

Prime and Jazz gathered their datapads. Prime approached and raised his hand as if he was planning on clasping my shoulder but both shoulders were pre-occupied. Smokscreen looked up, lightly ex-vented, and stepped back with a tug on Bluestreak. The two finally separated themselves from me.

Prime patted my shoulder. “It’s good to see you. Please do not hesitate to contact me if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

He walked past me and Jazz walked to me. His hands both held the datapads to his chest but one hand let go and started to move in my direction. It stopped, hanging in the air briefly before returning to the datapads. “Recharge well and don’t let Ratchet beat you up too bad. Your brothers know a thing or two about handling him now.”

“Oh, okay. Good to know.” When Jazz slipped by me the flutter in my chest died.

The three of us were left. I asked, “Does Jazz’s last comment about you have anything to do with Ratchet’s rude remarks when Perceptor mentioned your concerns during my recover?”

Smokescreen chuckled and Bluestreak beamed a little, sticking his chassis out and flaring up his doorwings. Smokescreen evaded my question. “Let’s follow our leader and get out of here.”

“First I’d like to check if there’s some ideal time for my follow up appointment. I suspect knowing when Ratchet doesn’t needs recharge will help somewhat. Even if it’s I don’t anger him further by comm.’ing him in mid-recharge.”

“Makes sense,” he reluctantly agreed. “Send him a message quick.”

“I’d rather check and see if he’s in a receiving mood rather than ask blindly.”

“Fine, but hurry up. We made plans.”

That was optimistic of them. It’s either a nice sentiment or gleeful planning of the still-undisclosed restitutions. I’ll err on the side of family and go with nice.

I silently moved quickly back until I got to the frosted window to Ratchet’s office. It’s one of those windows that frosts when there’s an occupant in it, or is the equivalent of a neon sign saying “Ratchet’s in here.” We procured it for him after Jazz got the idea from humans because it tells us if the room is occupied and allows for confidential meetings.

The next part I’m unsure if Jazz did as part of a secret scheme or if another ‘Bot just capitalized on it, but there’s a sliver of the frost-capable section chipped away so someone well aware of it can peek inside. It’s been there for quite a while and I’ve used it multiple times for strategic planning around Ratchet’s moods.

I sidle up to the wall and peered inside, able to get the angle on seeing Ratchet’s profile. There’s a datapad under his arms but he’s leaning over his desk with his face covered by his hands. He’s just sitting there. Should I knock, comm. him, or let him be?

I linger a little but I can’t leave my brothers alone too long. A sudden shutter passes through his frame and his hands rub his face. Why would he do that? I’ve never seen him shudder. Bluestreak on occasion, but that’s only after something very bad happened, like when we nearly lost Prime and when he finally received good news Blue shuddered as he came down from sickening worry – _oooooh_.

I left noiselessly, feeling horrible from churning tanks and tight chassis. Perhaps I ought to take back the lack of guilt over my earlier decisions.

As soon as I was within reach Bluestreak grabbed one arm and pulled me towards the exit. Smokescreen moved behind me and kept a hand my other shoulder, placing a slight pressure so I couldn’t stop if I tried. I dully protested, “I wasn’t planning to leave without out you.”

Bluestreak snickered. “You couldn’t shake me if you tried. I’ve gotten very good at tailing others while you were… away.” His voice waivered for a moment but then he loudly brightened back up before I could reassure him I’m fine. “I have so much to tell you, but first let’s start with the less serious stuff. Like the impromptu party Blaster through. It was pretty fun, although Hide put a serious cramp in it by taking away the entire high grade supply before anyone could get really overcharged.” He continued as we walked to my quarters, Smokescreen a few steps behind us. We passed a few mechs and each time Bluestreak paused to allow a few polite words before excusing us so the ‘Bot couldn’t ask questions. Smokescreen privately messaged me after the first Autobot, Fireflight, to let me know that almost no one on the base knows what happened.

By the time we reached my quarters Bluestreak finally released my arm. I inquired, “Do I need to get you both the temporary berth mats or did you already set something up?”

They glanced sideways at each other and slowly turned smirking glances at me. Smokescreen’s bloomed into that triumphant look from before as he approached my door and keyed in his access code I gave him. “Oh,” he said as the door opened, “there’s no need for mats.”

I slipped in quickly to see what they’ve done to my quarters. “Why is my berth almost three times the size of a standard berth? Prime could fit on that! Where’s my desk? Where’s my T.V.?” The berth extended far enough that it would have butted up against a desk corner had it been there. My chairs were flipped around and pushed up against the wall where my television used to be installed. There’s a pile of padding by the head of the berth.

Bluestreak leaned in and pointed to the wall section slightly beyond the end of my new berth. “There.”

Smokescreen pushed us both in from between our doorwings. “Get inside; I’m not standing in the hallway like a weirdo.” When the door closed behind him, Smokescreen asked, “Blue, did you finally get around to selecting the movies?”

“Yes, I have three picked out.”

“What is going on?” I demanded.

“You know that restitution you owe us?” Smokescreen’s rhetorical question was coupled with an incredibly smug hand-on-hip, crinkled optic corners, and a foreboding dripping in his voice. Bluestreak snickered almost darkly before moving over to the television and his wireless device for accessing his entertainment database.

“I’m aware of what Prime said, yes. Are you making me watch movies with you like when we were young?” How nostalgic, and how far too innocent for Smokescreen.

“In part. Actually we’re your new bunkmates for the next few deca-orns but as you can see, there’s no bunk-berths. Don’t worry though, because we still have our quarters so if we want to leave and recharge somewhere private, we can. Not you, though. Nope, your private time is totally at our mercy. Your loving, totally neglected, brothers’ mercy.”

_Nooooo…._

“Yup!” Bluestreak happily and innocently added to Smokescreen’s cruel declaration. “See, we went deca-orns of you lying to us and cutting us out. After having to fight an uphill battle for you without having an idea what was going on, we decided you owe us deca-orns of quality time. We get to decide what ‘quality time’ means, too. We’re starting you off easy with movie night.”

Smokescreen laughed and grabbed some padding from the pile before sliding inside the berth as Bluestreak finished loading whatever movie. “See,” said the brother who’s idea of ‘quality time’ I knew would eventually delve into something borderline illegal, “the main point of what you have to deal with for your actions is learning that lying to those who care about you, even in their own warped way like Ratchet, is very bad. Now get over here, you’re stuck being sandwiched between us.” He leaned over as I grabbed padding for propping my back as well and humorlessly whispered, “ _forever_.”

Bluestreak paused the movie on the opening screenshot and climbed into the berth after me. “Plus we know about your new filters. We don’t know a whole lot of what happened that caused sparklinghood processor damage, and why in all these vorns it’s just now coming up, but we know enough that we want you to talk to us about it. Not now because right now is about relaxing, but starting sometime before Ratchet wears you down.” Bluestreak added the last part as he leaned onto my shoulder and called for no lights and for the movie to play.

I’ll summarize the movie as this: a combination of action, joy-filled events for the protagonists, and well-placed cerebral jokes. A little of something for all of us and a movie I didn’t slowly drift into ignoring while revisiting some of my main prioritized To-Do lists. Blue clearly put a lot of thought into this.

When the credits started rolling Bluestreak ended the feed. “The twins are on their way here,” he announced as he sat up and started crack his back.

“Blue,” Smokescreen asked when he tried stretching, “Can you just move for a moment? Blue?” We could see the look in his optics he got whenever talking on his commlink. “Whatever.” Suddenly Smokescreen crawled over my legs while calling for full lights.

“Hey!” Impulsively I pushed him off. As soon as I realized what I’d done my face turned hot.

Smokescreen, half toppled over the edge of the berth, looked straight in my optics and his annoyed expression broke apart with a laugh. “Aw, does not having a battle computer to tell you how to get out of a brotherly sandwich leave you confused? Are you doing things a wee bit more instinctually rather than calculatedly? You poor spark. Poor itty-bitty sparkling.”

“I don’t need any computer to know you are behaving poorly for a fully grown soldier. You behaved better as a mechling when we did this. Cease your mocking and cooing.” He kept up his shenanigans. “Right now. I mean it.”

He only laughed at me. Fake-threatening Smokescreen was so much easier when I know his latest illegal exploits. I need to tap back into my resources ASAP on the latest events he’s likely placed bets. See if there’s any national or international racecar events scheduled. Then I’ll actually “mean” something.

Bluestreak snapped back to the room and pulled Smokescreen up with him. “Don’t you start already breaking him. I don’t want to deal with Super Angry and Unfiltered Ratchet again. Did you know how much he filters his language around us because of Prowl’s regulations on language? He actually started regularly calling me ‘The Irritating Shit’ – whoops!” I was no longer the one with colored cheeks as he gave me a caught-in-the-headlights look.

My back shot up straight. I demanded, “Since when has Ratchet been using human foul language? I allow our CMO some slack on account of the stress of his job and who he’s usually exposed to for patients, but I won’t have him spreading around inappropriate language from our host planet’s species. What if it catches on and someone says it around an actual human?”

Bluestreak meekly shrugged. “Ratchet says he keeps his language clean around you and those who would likely say or repeat something to you. Now that’s something I never thought I’d say, Ratchet keeping his language clean. I told him I wasn’t going to tattle to my older brother and he said he didn’t think I’d tattle, just open my big mouth.” Bluestreak slightly flinched.

“So he’s been doing this with others? For how long? Why?”

“Yes, don’t know who, don’t know how long, and because using alien bad words can be totally worse from our perspective. Like ‘slag’ is bad enough but sometimes things are worse than slag so they’re – ”

“Bluestreak,” I cut him off before allowing him to further become used to the bad behavior and stood up. “Now what about the twins? I recalled some memories of Sideswipe around the time of the spark attack. I don’t recall what he did, though.”

Both of their optic ridges shot up. Bluestreak echoed, “What he did?”

Smokescreen asked, “You don’t recall anything a bit more detailed than just him being around?”

“Not yet. My attention has been wholly grabbed by other issues since waking.”

“Then I’m going to let him inform you, my gift to him for being my fake alibi and for getting Blue out of his locked quarters. But as your brother I’ll offer a suggestion that you hold off on any accusations, or other words of possible confrontation.”

I narrowed my optics at him suspiciously but my door chimed too soon for interrogation. Smokescreen walked up to the door and it slid open but he threw his arm back in pretend overly-enthusiastic greeting. “Welcome to Blue’s and my spacious new quarters! I know normally others bring home-warming presents but I got Sideswipe one instead.”

I stepped closer and saw the twins looking at him a bit peculiarly before suddenly grinning madly. Smokescreen surely just comm.’d them his meaning. I need Jazz to teach me how to hack commlinks.

Sideswipe purred, “Prowl, how are you? We were waiting for all the worry to pass through before coming to see if you really were moving around just fine.” He stepped in with Sunstreaker two steps behind his heels.

“I am moving around acceptably.” I deliberately kept it vague, poking at my memories fervently to figure out where this was going. Ratchet said I owed my life to them but that “Reserved for About to Die Decepticons” smile says that’s not what he’s thinking about.

“That’s good. I’ve been moving around acceptably, too.” After failing to lead me into whatever trap, he continued unperturbed. “I’ve healed well under Ratchet’s tenderly, motherly really, care. Taking care of me like a creator watching a sparkling learning to walk. Did you get that motherly touch, Prowl?”

A memory of us standing in a cave struck. “I know where you’re going with this.”

“Do you? How far would you say I’m going with this?”

“Don’t press it.”

“You mean the comment about how Mommy Prowl wounded me with accusations?” His smile turned into a sad pout but I could see the corners threatening to turn back into that “For Decepticons” smile. “You made me feel so sad when you made my ‘wounding me’ comment far more literal, or why Ratchet had to help me walk.”

My hand tingled and suddenly I remembered looking down and seeing a flattened Sideswipe, laid out by my punch. The memories played through on fast forward, from me trying to getting around him to when I had my hands around his neck. I remembered that my peds were digging into mud to try and stop from _attacking_ Sideswipe. Horror spread on my face, stopping with a gaping jaw and wide optics.

Sideswipe started laughing with near manic. “Yup, I can see you know exactly where I’m going with this perfectly fine now. You’re the one who attacked me. And you know what? Prime gave me a couple of deca-orns to roll out my punishment. Oh yeah, that’s right – you’re _my_ turbofox to play with now!”

Damn. Fragging Pit.

No, worse: shit.

 

|\/\/\/|

 

Over the course of the next online period for me I spoke to Prime about these restitutions and punishments, subjected to Ratchet’s Unicron-inspired idea of tests, and worked with Perceptor on the emotions filters. Some of Ratchet’s more energy-intensive tests I barely passed. Ratchet decided to hold off his investigation into my battle computer until I could pass those tests with better results. I have very mixed thoughts on that. On one hand, I feel vulnerable being unable to access the battle computer’s expertise or simulator, and on the other hand, it did take over my body and attack Sideswipe.

After that and a refuel break I had to meet with everyone but Jazz over what I owed them and how. Smokescreen stayed with me as Prime’s appointed delegate to keep conversations from derailing.

Ratchet decided he was going for horror over me “playing doctor” and now slotted me to assist him with several scheduled surgeries. I tried getting out of it by first pointing out my lack of skills, which he retaliated against that his intention is traumatizing me rather than having me learn anything useful. I pointed out that such an arrangement compromises doctor-patient confidentiality only for him to gleefully say he already had a solution. While we had our meeting I avoided telling him what I saw in his office. Ratchet wouldn’t appreciate that, finding it more of an invasion than a chance to talk. There were other methods of communicating my regret.

Wheeljack only asked that I spend time with him to learn more about what he does and his processes so I can understand his order requests. Smokescreen privately told me that he thought Wheeljack was just lonely from Autobots assuming he was a walking explosion and often staying rooms away.

In a way Perceptor’s punishment/restitution backed Smokescreen’s speculation. I was to record all of Wheeljack’s doings and create a report for his review from now until the next major Decepticon activity. According to him the point was so I could see just how difficult and timekeeping it was to be “Jack’s handler” and that I use my learning to find better solutions for him. I suspect he already knows what those solutions are but I’m supposed to figure it out on my own.

Sunstreaker’s wasn’t so much a punishment to me as it was to my finances. He wanted me to buy all of his specialty wax for a vorn, but Prime denied him a period of that length. They negotiated until they came to a year’s supply with the option of Prime cutting off the free wax if he found Sunstreaker abusing it.

Red Alert required I set aside ten percent more of my time for security issues until he was satisfied. I don’t know why Prime didn’t put a cap on that like Sunstreaker’s because anyone who knows Red Alert knows that such a request lasting only a vorn would be a blessing.

When Prime and I met a second time, while Smokescreen took a break, he explained that I’m expected to cover his shifts on the secondary and tertiary shifts through the next two rotations. Some of that included provisions for administration issues he hadn’t yet finished. We also discussed my workload for the next few deca-orns or until suspected increase in enemy activity. I was required to take breaks, work only on a third of my normal work items, and no over time. The rest of my work was spread out across those here and on Cybertron. My remaining scheduled duty time was taken up by others and what I owed them. We were interrupted first from Ironhide privately pulling him away, and then Prime ending it early to address whatever they discussed. That wasn’t the last of it though, because he had something else to say but he had another pressing matter to address now.

When Ironhide returned he, Smokescreen, and I talked. He decided to mimic Prime’s requirement of having his rotational shifts covered. The two of them are making me rethink standard scheduling guidelines.

Sideswipe’s plan called for using one of my own where I deliberately drag out his punishments until someone he doesn’t like gets into trouble so I can sentence them both. Besides adding to their suffering it does hold some chance of them eventually growing past their hatred of each other and developing a functional soldier rapport. Uniting people through a common enemy, and whatnot. Since I don’t have a Cliffjumper of my own I don’t know what he’s waiting for to happen, but I sincerely doubt he cares about building positive relationships.

Jazz I didn’t get a chance to see because he’s off working with Mirage on setting up a new spy location with the necessary fail-safes. I don’t know much of the details since they won’t reinstate me for even light duty, but Jazz snuck into the _DHQ_ and stole their plans. Prime’s imposed endpoint for the others in their plans was structured around the stolen information’s timeline.

I don’t like the idea of Jazz being on a dangerous mission without me looking at it. He’ll be back as soon as he’s satisfied with Mirage’s safety, but I still don’t like it so I took a page from Sideswipe’s idea of strategy since he’s taking one from me. When Prime stepped out of his office for Ironhide I stole a copy of the report. A part of me was tense for breaking the laws but the rest of me cared more for the two agents’ wellbeing more so I was unwilling to quietly wait on the sidelines.

Finally done with the exhausting tests and meeting I adjourned to my quarters. I didn’t get to be alone, though, since they were sticking to the plan of me having someone constantly nearby. Blue and Smokescreen came back with me and somehow I ended up in one of my chairs while watching Smokescreen teach Bluestreak a new gambling game. He brought in his table for card-based gambling and I tried participating in a legal game but it morphed into one a bit less compliant. I interrupted the game by citing regulations and now I’m sitting against the wall until “I know how to be a brother and not an officer.” I’m fairly certain he’s just doing this to taunt me for not have any brig-tossing authority. Yet.

Smokescreen called while shuffling his cards, “Stop sulking.”

“Officers do not sulk.”

“Funny thing, while you still have overall great facial expression control, your doorwings now speak normally. You haven’t remastered them yet so I can see you’re practically pouting. Plus you have your arms crossed.”

I snap my doorwings from the downward and outward tilt into their neutral position. My arms relaxed into my sides. “I’m displeased with being forced to watch Autobot laws being broken. I’m going to clean up.”

“You did that after all the alt-mode testing. There’s no way you got dirty since then.”

“Watching you break regulations makes me feel dirty. Afterwards I can read one of my bookfiles rather than subject myself to this again, unless you’re willing to do something a bit more normal for me. Where did you put my desk contents?”

Bluestreak pointed to a stack of his personal items in the corner. “We put them there but then I needed somewhere to put my stuff, and since you’re supposed to be spending time with us I figured I could put my stuff on top of it. We need new furniture in here. You have no spare storage that isn’t part of a work surface. We don’t trust you to resist the call of a work surface. What do you think are the odds of us finding something on the internet big enough for our needs so we can have it shipped to Smokey’s pickup address overnight? I’d hate to ask Jack to stop whatever he’s doing over furniture. Grapplewould take way too long to make it because he’d spend forever on making it anesthetically pleasing.”

He started going on without speaking directly to me about what they were going to do to “our” quarters. When I started moving to the pile he abruptly addressed me again. “You really shouldn’t be ignoring us and reading. I can find something for us three.”

I carefully picked through the pile until I found the datapad I wanted. I subspaced it without drawing attention to it, and picked up the closest bookfile. With a slight detour to my chair I replied, “If you can find something by the time I come back from my shower then the bookfile stays on this chair until the next time Smokescreen tries pressing my patience and tolerance.”

Once I was in the washracks I pointed the nozzle into a corner, turned on the watery solvent, and tucked all but my peds into the furthest and thus driest corner. My peds I let rest in the solvent since they actually were slightly dirty from repeatedly travelling through the labs. The washracks may be the only place I can secretly work on the stolen report. I don’t know which is unbelievable: surviving a spark attack (still no memories after attacking Sideswipe), or what’s happening now. I’m at Sideswipe’s mercy for punishment, I have to submit to regular beatings by Ratchet, no one will yet explain to me what happened after the attack because I supposedly need to remember it on my own, and now I’m hiding inside a running shower to read a report. Horrible.

Hmm, now that it’s just me inside my helm and I can hear myself clearer, perhaps there is a little bit of sulking… I better stop toying with these new filters. Earlier I reduced the filters down from 100% to 90% for testing. I readjusted it to 95%.

I actually find 100% filter application a bit jarring. After I shook off the effects of Wheeljack’s surprise I was fine with 100% until the conversation with Sideswipe took me from calm to a sudden near-overpowering urge to punch him again. I kept outwardly calm but some internal warning would be nice. Being alone in my helm with my thoughts and intermittent emotions has amplified a lot personally. Now isn’t the time to dwell on what that means since I need to finish my secret plans to ensure Jazz’s and Mirage’s safety before either brother starts knocking.

Ah, so according to this report the Decepticons aren’t doing anything immediately dangerous. They have a rather sinister plan in works but we’re working in tandem with Cybertron to thwart their plans in the most schedule-detrimental way possible. So far we’ve been successful but the Decepticons moved a few pieces of equipment around so Jazz is helping Mirage relocate.

I may not be able to use my battle computer or logic center, but I’m not incapable of doing a strategic analysis on my own. Working fast, I scanned other tactical notes and compared them to points in the Decepticon plan I knew Starscream tended to either hinder or accelerate. His issues with me have given me ample of opportunities to know what he calls tactics, plus when he’s likely to shoot himself in the ped or bow down as Megatron’s ped stool. These are the issues that the otherwise capable tacticians listed on the report might overlook.

I found an upcoming scheduled task for Starscream that seems perfect for his egoistical backstabbing side to come out. For some reason his next scheduled task after that takes place almost a deca-orn later despite the tasks working better in succession – that is, unless the schedule planner is counting on Starscream trying something during the first task, lose, require time for medical repairs, and then get back to work. Megatron and Soundwave have each previously used Starscream’s treachery to their advantage, humiliating him to put the rest back in line and then giving the Seeker a chance to eagerly redeem himself as a reminder to all Decepticons. That means at least one of them is already expecting sabotage. If they find something and it doesn’t radiate “Starscream did this” then Jazz and Mirage are in trouble.

Taking a moment to keep up the charade, I turn off the cleaning solvent and initiate the drying settings. The hot air blew on my peds and I rolled my ankle struts under the heat while sitting back down.

I un-subspaced my datapad for direct access to _Teletraan_. Using Jazz’s login codes I put in my observations. As soon as I submit it under his name, Jazz will receive a direct verification alert asking him to confirm if the changes were authorized. He’s smart enough to figure it out from there and unlikely to say anything to Prime about this actually coming from me.  He’ll probably want to say something to me. I hope he says it to me alone – I mean I hope we can speak without one of my brothers present. So I won’t get in further trouble. Wow, where did that thought about Jazz come from?

My peds stopped being the only thing hot when my energon lines seem to heat up through my body, especially in my hands. The neuronet in my hands seemed sensitized to the texture of the datapad in my hand. That 95% filtering just failed… unless it has to do with that extra 10% detection for “positive emotions.” Or is this internal heat the same burning I had around the time I attacked Sideswipe, making it possibly a sign of a spark attack?

I waited for my heat-flushed frame and sensitive neruonet to calm down before relaxing. Not a spark attack. I guess it was supposed to be a pleasant emotion like happiness, which is kind of where this all got started anyways. Is happiness supposed to be this complicated?

Enough of that. Time to hit “Submit Changes” and get out of here. As soon as I pressed the button and knew that Jazz was getting the alert I suddenly found myself wishing to take a real shower but at a cooler temperature. How baffling. Maybe I need another checkup.


	9. Prowl's POV: Letting Go

_My white hands touched chilly, scratched, white metal, sliding my fingers along the curves. My hands stopped and rested just the briefest klik, and then they squeezed with every bit of strength they can._

_Muscle cables began cracking as they tensed beneath the plating and the tingling of electricity toyed with my fingers, letting me know the electrical wiring was being crushed just as well. Blue lights flicker just within my peripheral vision, pulling my focus upward, and I realize it’s the light from the shocked optics of Sideswipe._

_‘_ Let go!’ _I demand, but my hands refuse my command. What –_

_The back of my helm practically explodes open from pain and my vision is just as bed, while my face is pressed into dirt and some rocks. The disruption to my optical feed clears just enough to see yellow contact my abdominal region, blinding me again in agony. It clears again but only enough for me to see a yellow hand grab me by the doorwing, and an upright red ped just beyond that offending limb. I try protesting but my vocalizer refuses to let me speak –_

_A void suddenly tears it all from my sights and audios, and then just as suddenly it all reappears completely different. I’m in Sideswipe’s hands, being held up without an ounce of concern in that clenched grip. Something cold is crawling its way down my back._

_A voice much like my own whispers, cold and taunting. “You’re bleeding because of them, because they see you as a threat. Not even a comrade worth giving the benefit of the doubt. There’s something wrong with you but no one notices. They’ll never notice the lifeless tactician suffering, only seeing a scheme imbedded into every movement and word when the tactician finally responds to his puppet strings. You can choke one of them and they’ll never ask what happened to you, because that kind of ruthlessness is what they already see in you.”_

_Sunstreaker’s voice sneers from behind me, “… sliding down the rock like a cowardly Decepticon. First you attack Sides and then you practically faint.”_

_Sideswipe’s fingers claw their way into my plating, tearing it up. “Either Ratchet or I can take you straight to Unicron. We want to make sure you know who’s tossing you in.”_

_From behind Sunstreaker yanks my doorwings down to the ground, as hard as possible, nearly ripping the right one off. I cry out involuntarily, though no sound is heard._

_Rain pours from the colorless skies, most of the water drenching my face and threatening to force its way into my mouth and into my energon tanks. I can hear words jumbling together in the background, but they’re nearly drowned out by the water. I concentrate on the voice as I try turning onto my side to stop the water from threatening to flood my tanks, but Sideswipe leans forward and pushes me back down with his weight._

_Sunstreaker leans down and snarls, “What’s the matter, can’t recognize Blue’s voice? Can you even hear his pain? He hurts because of you. How many times does this make it?”_

_I try sending Bluestreak a commlink ping. ::Bluestreak, what’s happening?::_

_No response. The unintelligible words keep coming as if my message was never sent. ::Blue!::_

_Still no change in the voice, but my chassis starts heating. It’s keeps heating and heating… the water starts steaming off my plating but it does nothing for the burning. I try thrashing to get away but the expressionless Sideswipe has me pinned by the chassis and arm. I realize Sunstreaker is gone so I reach out with my left arm. ::Blue!::_

_The energon in my arm begins to boil and then the line bursts, forcing my arm to fall back. Sideswipe’s face remains the same as he reaches out and pins that arm down._

_The falling rivers turn solid, pelting me with ice colder than possible for hail. My plating is frosting over, freezing my temperature sensors, but my energon pump burns as it sputters, forcing the liquid fire through my lines and pooling in my left arm. My spark is trying to burst through my chassis, freeing itself of the pain and end the silent suffering I forced it to endure._

_I can’t get control. My helm falls back, the thud lightly aggravating the first injury. My neck can no longer support my helm. The burning energon is pushing all the strength out from my frame, and I suddenly feel so tired._

_Bluestreak and Sideswipe both fade away, leaving me alone to burn under the building ice. That cruel voice returns and whispers to me. “Does anyone_ really _know you? Do you even know who you are anymore?”_

“Stop!” I gasped, abruptly onlining. Uncontrolled spasms jerked my body upward but I only moved a little before two other frames trapped me into place.

“Whaa?” slurred Blue from the berth’s outside edge.

An equally slurred, “Fans oughtta be off,” came from my opposite side.

I paid them little heed. I wiggled from my pinned position with a quick, “I need space.” Feebly I added before one or both followed me, “It’s too warm between you both.”

Hopping over the sprawled form of Bluestreak, half draped over the berth edge and helm hung off to the side, I almost jumped into my washrack. Once the door was closed I focused on shaking the twisted memories from the forefront of my mind. Rapid whirling sounds from my fans draw my attention and I force that attention to stay squarely on the efforts needed to reduce my body temperature down before resetting the fan to normal speeds.

This was my first recharge without any non-spark medications, including the dreamless medications from Ratchet. This was also my first time remembering anything beyond the fight with Sideswipe, but even the fight with Sideswipe wasn’t previously remembered with every detail. The feeling of his armor stressed under my hands…

Involuntary shudders racked my frame. Immediately I put the emotion filters back to full force but it only took some of it away. I didn’t need my logic center to tell me that was a nightmare, contorting my lost memories into something far worse than they already were – yet my attempts at reassuring myself did nothing. Reliving a steady descent into system-by-system deactivation, harming another Autobot, and forcing Blue through witness that cascading deactivation… another shudder. My temperature starting rising again and my doorwings threatened to rapidly twitch beyond my control. I turned on the washrack's shower and cleaned my almost-spotless form, doing everything I could for maintaining attention _anywhere_ other than the looping memories. The real ones started bleeding through the nightmare, and while the Twins roles were absolve of such sinister displays, little else was comforting. After ruthlessly cleaning my joints until diminutive paint cracks started forming, my distress finally disappeared behind that emotional wall and I ceased cleaning. I dried off and quietly walked out of the washrack.

Bluestreak was half up while Smokescreen looked like he tried propping his helm up before giving up. His helm hung forward but his arm was still in place for support, albeit his hand now loosely hanging over the back of his neck.

Blue’s dim optics landed in my general direction. His speech was slightly clearer but there was still the audible detection of interrupted recharge. “Was getting ready to get you. Were you showering?”

Softly so as not to wake them further, I responded, “I said it was too warm. I thought since I was in the washrack, it might be more energy-efficient to use the cool solvent than my own systems.”

“Oh. You okay?”

“I’ll be fine, but unfortunately I’m fully awake now.”

Smokescreen mumbled, “Not gonna be a problem with me. Stayed up way too late.”

“I think I’ll take a walk. Perhaps that will be enough.”

“No!” Smokescreen’s hand jolted out from under him and pointed in my general direction, demanding attention. He rolled his head up with slightly brighter optics than Blue, although the youngest room inhabitant did take on a look of concern as he shifted into a sitting position. “You aren’t allowed to be by yourself.” He dropped his head, clearly tired from his late game and updating his “recreational” spreadsheets. “Just… just do things quietly in here.”

Bluestreak pushed himself off the berth. “I can walk with you.”

Smokescreen merely replied with, “Mrph.” He rolled over, his back to us.

“Thank you, Blue.” I wanted solitude to find all the flaws in that nightmare and prove the lies. Still, I wouldn’t protest the offer or push back against what comfort they found in keeping me in constant close range. Even if the same end goal could be accomplished by alerting someone on monitor duty while both brothers left their commlinks open.

We left the room without exchanging any more words. Bluestreak’s optics brightening to normal levels over a slow walking adjustment. “So,” he said with a drawn out ex-vent, “what got you up?”

“As I said, being pinned between you two was too warm.”

“You didn’t complain before at our close contacts. It’s just that we’re making sure you don’t get... too still. I mean, I know Ratchet’s got like a bunch of extra medical sensors on your spark chamber, but there’s always that delay to prevent false positives.”

“Hi, Blue!” Sideswipe’s voice rang out from behind us. Thank Primus for Sideswipe’s save before I had to respond.

I can’t believe I just thought "thanks" and “Sideswipe’s save” without including the word “battle.”

We stopped and Bluestreak turned completely around whereas I merely glanced back. Seeing the frontliner’s smirk drew my attention to his face and then his neck. I couldn’t help the flinch as I saw where my hands held him down, even if no damage or discoloration indicated it ever happening.

Bluestreak instantly cheered up. “Hi, Sides! What are you doing up? You haunting this junction?” Finding him standing in the hallway junction between soldier quarters and officer quarters was unusual.

“I got off shift a little bit ago. Hide's still taking a crack at making schedules since _you_ aren’t,” he said with a brief but pointed look my way, “and now I’m finding ways to entertain myself. Did a few hallway jump scares, but I figured I _probably_ shouldn’t do that to you. I mean, yeah, technically I shouldn’t do it to anyone, but you and trigger-happies especially. I’d be in my quarters but Sunny ended up on patrol with Tracks.” He dramatically shuddered. “Prowl, you couldn’t give Hide tips on who not to pair during what?”

“I wasn’t consulted.” I waited to make sure I sounded normal despite the dark thoughts regarding our last altercation. “Given the dry weather these past few days, I suspect the source of your concern is that they became lightly dusty and then fought in the washracks over who gets which cleaner.”

Behaviorisms after duty is one of the several considerations my battle computer stores for building or updating schedules. In all honesty, I may not have considered it if Ironhide asked. Perhaps that’s for the best, so that the commanding staff remaining unaware that I might have similarly erred without my battle computer. At this rate, they should want to reinstate me sooner than planned.

Blue hummed along with Sideswipe’s recap while I internally mused on the budding issues from my on-duty absence. “Really, Tracks managed to out maneuver Sunny and get the good cleaner?”

“Yeah, well Sunny got distracted by me and a couple others yelling at them to move. So now I’m wandering the common areas for distractions while Sunny blows off his disgrunt with violent videos games. Pretty sure he’s fighting the game’s imported copy of me, and that can be _so_ awkward.”

I chastised, “‘Disgrunt’ is not even a word.”

“It’s _my_ word for unhappy grunts, or disgruntled soldiers, or whatever I so please. You can’t pick on me, Prowl. Not yet.” He grinned and puffed out his chest when pointing back at himself.

“Yes, I still haven’t heard your plans...”

“Nope, still dragging it out like that time you had me wash Red Alert’s security office floor – with Red still in it – using a human toothbrush until Cliffjumper got into trouble. In this case my Red Alert is your Ratchet. I’m happily letting his beatings go uninterrupted. Once those are done, though, it’s my turn.”

An unexpected voice joined the conversation. “Aww, someone’s still bitter about Red’s freak out over spilled solvent on a console.” I whipped my helm back to see Jazz approach. He walked right up to me and folded his arms around my shoulder. “I need to steal Prowl. Any complainers?”

“Nope,” Bluestreak said with a slight nod. “We were only walking around. Just remember he’s not allowed to be by himself. Sides, if you want someone to jump scare, Smoke is practically passed out.” Bluestreak gave his fellow agitator his best mischievous smile. “He cleaned me out pretty early during a game so I’m not as tired as him. Want to help me make him feel bad about it?”

A wicked grin met Blue’s. “Share details over some energon?”

Bluestreak nodded and the pair left us. I wasn’t particularly concerned as I was very acutely aware of who was still hanging off of my frame.

Jazz lazily leaned backwards until he stood on his own accord. “Sounds like your quarters are still occupied?”

“Alas.”

“Then we can chat in mine.” He moved beyond me to his quarters, near the far end of the hallway. We entered his colorful home, plastered with posters and other cross-cultural personal touches, Jazz moving straight to his sound system controls. I lingered just inside of the door.

“You care what I put on?” he casually asked. “I need some background noise that isn’t Megatron, or Starscream, or some other whiny Decepticon. Can’t tell you how bad I wanted to just rock to some private commlink music but had to keep it clear for Mirage.”

“How did it go, or are you allowed to tell me?”

“Officially I’m not supposed to, but then I’m unofficially aware you know things from what you unofficially did.” He canted his helm at me and threw a quick smirk before returning to his music. “This should work.”

I inquired, “Did you pull me aside to unofficially discuss business without possible observers?”

“As a start.”

I listened to the first few bars of the music. “Softer than I was expecting.”

“Well I could play my normal ‘post slow X-Ops mission’ playlist, but I figure talking will go smoother if I’m not also burning off pent-up energy at the same time. That's for later.” He joined me, standing in front of me rather than directing me to the couch, as done in my previous few and far between visits. “So, first question: how’d you get my login code for submitting reports to _Teletraan_?”

“Remember the last time you were in my quarters how you used my _Teletraan_ interface datapad for shifting our schedules? That datapad automatically stores the codes and identities of anyone who uses it. I never bothered deleting your information.”

“And here I am used to being the sneaky one with those kinds of tricks.”

“What tricks? I didn’t ask you to log into one of my datapads.”

Jazz snickered. “True, I suppose. Had quite the surprise when I got a totally unexpected notification asking me to confirm my newest report changes. When I saw the timestamp and realized it wasn’t a delayed system response I almost pulled a Red Alert.”

“When did you know I did it?”

“When I actually read the changes. I've read far too many of your reports on Decepticon command chain to not recognize your words.”

“You actually read my reports?” I faintly smiled, feeling my doorwings relax a little with the teasing manner we lost since I first pushed Jazz away.

“The ones that looked relevant.”

“I’m sure that’s all of them and in their entirety.”

“Officially? Yes.” Half his visor flickered, his equivalent to a wink. “After I calmed down and figured out what you were really saying, I hailed Mirage and immediately altered our plans. We worked it out and now he’s waiting for Starscream to make his move so Raj can use it to cover ours. I updated the report and changed what you put in so it sounded like me.”

His hand rose in my direction and stopped briefly before dropping down, much like the last time we spoke. “Thanks for the save.”

“I hate being kept out of the loop.”

“Yeah, sucks to be left out of the loop over life-and-death issues.” What jovial touches to his facial expressions disappeared and I knew instantly the discussion’s topic overtly changed.

I sobered up as well. “I suppose whatever you plan on asking for Question Number Two will not be about that report change. I…” Miserably I failed at trying to take the initiative, ending with a wordless gape.

I ex-vented slowly but softly, if only to gain an extra moment. “I hope it’s obvious I never meant to hurt anyone. When I last saw you, back in the waiting room, I didn’t think much of what happened to put me in Medbay. I didn’t remember what happened, only what drove me to it. Since then, discussions with others, memories, dreams…” my apology fleetingly waned with the last word but I pushed through. “I’m realizing how narrow-sighted I became.”

I ex-vented again, the words starting tumbling free as if some unseen force shook them out. “You’d think as the CTO, if I can strategize for an entire army, then I can better plan person objectives. I lived without personal interference longer than this war. I knew if I said anything about my processor in the beginning I'd be barred from most career choices. Even if the processor damage was completely fixed, I’d always be considered a risk. Becoming an Enforcer would certainly be closed off forever.

“I watched Enforcers in Kaon and I could see the difference in those who kept going and those who didn’t. Corruption aside, it was those who emotionally became overly invested into their cases that burned out the fastest. Sometimes they became the most corrupt because they started making shortcuts or dirty deals to catch the culprit. They started with a tweaked definition of ‘legal’ here or there for something otherwise considered a good need, but invariably they delved entirely into something less tolerable when tweaks weren’t enough. After watching them for some time, I realized I could be an Enforcer that survived those moments without the desperation of someone willing to do anything to immediately absolve them of a case’s emotional pain.”

My optics doggedly looking at his floor by the end of that, but I forced them to dart upward to steal a quick glance. I watched for signs that Smokescreen’s private confession about what he told Jazz regarding my youth was anything more or less than what he admitted. “It honestly never bothered me that I could function without ever empathetically connecting with others, beyond family. Even that barely concerned me, since I knew that same lack of empathy was the only reason my creators’ deactivation wasn’t devastating. There were times their deaths unexpectedly bothered me with little provocation and I didn’t understand why. My friend wanted to know. He wanted me to understand. Without getting too far into the details, we eventually figured out that it stemmed from that processor damage. His realization came about as we chose our career choices.

“Enforcer training soon taught me that there was some fault in my conclusion about Enforcers and empathy. No matter how effective my capabilities at completing the actual work during training or in the field, getting information from fellow trainees, victims, and witnesses was unexpectedly difficult. My trainers pointed out my approach was perceived as rather devoid of a caring interest.

“I allowed my newly-medically-trained friend to make his proposed changes to bypass my processor damage on the contingency I could keep the bypass off most of the time. He died before fixing the risks of regularly keeping the sensors off, e.g. spark-attack, leaving me in a sort of limbo. I kept everything minimal to keep that limbo state from becoming a problem. Never thought I’d have a reason to consider it a real loss.”

 _“Does anyone_ really _know you? Do you even know who you are anymore?”_

My vents stalled and I cycled my optics as the taunting suddenly cut into my thoughts. I glanced at the silent and patient Jazz. _Did_ I know myself? Did he know me? I kept much about myself from him, and not just about the processor damage or my latest actions.

“It was a long time before I considered that maybe I was being too cautious, too methodical in my approach to others. It wasn’t immediate. If anything, my most immediate lesson from this war was to end what little empathy I allowed. Not only did it interfere with making decisions, it stopped serving its purpose because I could _order_ information from a soldier.

“Losing Praxus was… both reaffirming of that decision and enlightening of what I kept myself from even trying. I saw others comfort the injured, find inner strength, and rebuild themselves. Sometimes I think I failed Blue because I couldn’t risk being ill-equipped for the pain I knew lingering just beyond my detection. I tried being there for him, but… well.”

Nightmare-Sunstreaker’s words echoed, “ _He hurts because of you. How many times does this make it?”_ For a moment my spark froze until I willed to pulse again.

I finally looked at Jazz and kept my optics on him, noticing his small frown. “What I’m trying to get at is that I strived being more for those important to me, but I didn’t start before the war took one of its darkest turns. I never confided in anyone what I was trying to accomplish, still well aware of what mechs think of processor damage, so my progress was slow going, often confusing, and sometimes I lost ground. After Ratchet discovered the damage and alterations, I defaulted to what I spent most of my life doing to be safe. Being voluntarily alone and maintaining total control. This is the first time I did something like that after building some sort of relationship with those I see regularly – and behold, the fallout.”

I waited, feeling the fringes of _something_ while I fought from clenching my jaw and fingers. I told him more than I wanted, stopping myself only when I nearly revealed what else losing Praxus pointed out to me. Beyond the devastation, the everlasting searches for survivors, and the countless names needing relocation assistance, was one more realization: my glossed-over opinion of a fellow Autobot.

Jazz and I weren’t much more than officers with a polite amity back then, but when I witnessed survivors struggling to do more than simply exist, I also witnessed Jazz trying everything he had to cheer up the desolate while respecting their loss. There was something in the ingenuity of his ideas, but what spoke most to me was his respect. He never said, “cheer up!” or “it’ll get better,” like others. Sometimes he was a quiet holding hand to strangers who just realized they had no one left. Those moments resonated the most with me and that’s when I decided to see if I could understand someone beyond my few family members. I never told anyone that.

Have I lost all that time I spent trying to express my gratitude by voluntarily working extra assignments with him? I lost my fight against clenching my jaw, and my fingers dug into my palms. Not just the extra assignments, but allowing him to be a part of my breaks or downtime away from work. Before then, socializing was merely a tiring expenditure, but with him I found potential.

At first Jazz didn’t speak but his hand moved tepidly until it lightly touched my forearm. His fingers ghosted over my plating as if he couldn’t decide what to do with his hand. “True, it felt like a bit of fallout. Twice, actually. First was you sort of rejecting me back at the field in a pretty passive manner. I really hate passive-aggressive, by-the-way. The rejection wasn’t just pushing me away but also squashing the questions I had. I wanted to find their answers with you. Even if the end of the pursuit for them wasn’t everything we thought going in, I thought they’d be worthwhile exploring. That we might at least be stronger for it, even if simply a better friendship. Then after that rejection I learned you had a secret that I couldn’t figure out what to make of. Should I be angry you never told me? Understanding that it was a rather intimate detail and you and I hadn’t crossed that threshold?”

His fingers settled and loosely gripped my forearm. “I figured anger doesn't help so I went for finding and crossing that threshold. Granted, your secret wasn’t exactly intimate anymore, but I figured you’d try to keep as much to yourself as possible. So I tried again. There were difficult times where it felt like you were cutting me out, but I kept telling myself you were stressed, from the ongoing medical experiments and hiding it from everyone else. Wasn’t easy with that monitor on your arm and I figured its display pushed you further into being a recluse until Ratchet finally swapped it out for the discreet chip.

“I tried to make things easier on you. Sometimes I tried _really_ hard. Put myself on the line, even. ‘Though, I didn’t know I was putting myself on the line.” His grip disappeared and his hand slipped to his side. “Didn’t know you were killing yourself.”

Internally I vehemently protested the statement. Externally only a doorwing flicker escaped my carefully held rigid pose. “I didn’t consider a spark-attack likely. I knew it was a risk long ago but when things changed, I considered it too low of a potential threat relative to the other issues. I didn’t appropriately re-evaluate the situation. I focused on continuing control, narrowing everything down to that one goal, and in that respect it did almost kill me. Being someone so controlling that I accidently almost died seems to be the latest theme since we last spoke.”

“How? Aside from your schedule and being monitored in almost every way so you don’t relapse, how is that a theme?” After a beat he wirily added, “Besides Ratchet and his idea of teaching a life lesson.”

“Hmm, yes, Ratchet has made that a source of inspiration in his so-called restitutions,” I agreed with some dryness to my tone. “Not sure whose surgeries I witnessed as he did an excellent job of covering everything but the surgical area, but he’s sufficiently made his point. Don’t think I’ll ever again be able to touch medical equipment beyond a field kit. Can’t believe I have to ‘assist’ him through a few more.”

A brief snicker escaped Jazz before falling back to his somberness. “Okay. So, besides Ratchet?”

“It’s more of the theme of personal revelations through reflection and returning memories.”

“That sounds serious. You want to talk about it?”

“I haven’t, though I did just tell you plenty more than I’ve ever told anyone. Right now I’m a bit exhausted, between a disrupted recharge and my unplanned, monologue-worthy explanation. I’d rather relax until I can fall back into recharge than dive back into another mess.”

“Oh,” Jazz replied with the slightest frown.

“Unless you need to,” I offered. “We haven’t yet talked about you saving my life or what I owe you.”

Jazz uneasily shuffled. “Later. When you're able to talk for a while, because it won't be a quick chat. Maybe when your brothers need a break from watching you.”

“Alright,” I agreed. We looked at one another awkwardly for a half-breem. “Should I let you be?”

“Where will you go? Either I have to take you there or see if someone who knows what happened is available.”

“I was hoping you forgot the sparkling-sitting rule,” I begrudged. “I can request an update from Blue if he’s done using my room to stage a revenge attack.”

“Even if he was, I’m pretty sure Smokescreen would return fire. Your quarters are probably no longer a safe zone until they’re both back on shift. Or they and Sides somehow manage to simultaneously knock each other out.”

With a groan I agreed. “Probably. Perhaps one of their roommates is out and I can commandeer their quarters like they did mine. Serves them right.”

“True, but you aren’t allowed to be alone,” he pointed out. “Otherwise I think you’d have to use the Medbay. Aid is on duty and I think Ratchet would panic if he found you offline in Medbay. Even if Aid warned him.”

 “I’ll kick everyone out of my quarters except whichever brother is being the least spiteful. Most likely Smokescreen, who probably would roll right back over.”

“That’s one option. The simplest one might be that you recharge here,” he offered with the slightest hesitance and smile.

My spark stilled for a klik before a rapidly firing off several fluttering bursts, followed by a warming sensation pooling in my energon tanks. “That would be the quickest solution. Are you sure?”

“As sure as I am that I don’t want to walk you back to whatever scene is unfolding,” he teased. “And… it was nice that one time we recharged. Least waking pains I’ve had ever since finding out my Special Ops mods can’t be easily fixed. A consequence of being too uniquely awesome.”

“You mean being a medically unique special case?”

“Oh ha _ha_ , sure; say that now that you’re no longer sporting unique processor damage.” He scrunched his face as if offended before laughing it off. “Guess I can put off excess-energy-burn-off dancing for later. Come on, you overly complicated piece of my existence.” His hand resumed its position on my forearm and added a tug to his berth. “You’re getting the inside edge.”

“A preference of yours, recharging on the outside?” Like other single occupancy quarters, the berth was pushed against the wall to be out of the way. For Jazz the space was for dancing or a private party, for me it was (normally) to build mockup strategies through large holographic displays.

“Yes and no. I like escape paths but I’d prefer to recharge facing out instead of in. I’d rather be on the inside looking out than reverse. Still, if something does happen to you, it’s easier for me to clear the berth before Aid finds us in a compromised position.”

“Compromised position? Are we recharging or do you think we’re ‘recharging’?”

“Hey, it’s all questionable when Aid doesn’t know context why your leg will be my leg support, rather than my normal pillow.” We stopped at the edge of his berth and he pushed off the referenced foam support. “You’re a better cure for my pains… Well, depending on context,” he grinned.

Several kliks of me working my way into a resting position, my doorwings fanned out somewhat to minimize my space on his berth, I finally stopped and looked up at Jazz expectedly. He kneeled down on the berth before pursing his lips.

“Do I - or should I - keep an audio on your spark again?”

“No, there’s installed sensors for detection a disruption in spark energy. I swear Ratchet installed so many that I gained weight. _If_ something happened, Ratchet speculated the external signs would be a disruption in normal functions, akin to sudden stillness in movement and vent systems. My brothers leave a few of their sensors on with a detection program Perceptor wrote that’ll bring them instantly online if those two conditions occur. It slows down their recharge rate, which is part of the reason Smokescreen was still recharging while Blue and I were walking. He refuses to recharge earlier to adjust. Thanks to him I’m learning how bad recharge habits affect others, considering that Blue _just has to have_ the outside edge.”

“Ah, so without that program I need to squeeze up close to you?” he flashed a coy smile. My face warmed, uncertain if the smile was real or teasing, and he chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He turned down into a prone position on his side, slipping his legs between mine and moving his torso against my chassis. His helm lightly brushed my collar.

I moved my hand so it very lightly touched his lower back. “Do you still want me to hold you – to keep the stress off your back?” Did I just nearly stammer?

“Yeah, please do keep the _stress_ off my back.” Why did he say it like that? “Want me to turn off the music, or just the lights?”

“I don’t mind which way you prefer.”

“Okay, lights only it is then. Music should help me relax since _I_ didn’t talk myself into exhaustion.”

Teasingly I swatted him. “Rest well, Jazz.”

“Same to you too, Prowler.”

When a few breems passed and my face felt normal again, I sensed recharge finally creeping its way over my conscious. Every several kliks, though, my consciousness suddenly became hyper aware of the possibility of a bad dream reiteration and the lure of recharge receded. I tried silently repeating some of the philosophical quotes I read about internal peace, since running routine battle simulations weren’t an option to lull me to rest. After a couple breems of reciting the mantra it felt like recharge might finally take hold.

“I can’t recharge,” Jazz suddenly whined.

Damn, so close. “Why?”

“Too awake. Pent up energy. Music isn’t enough.”

“Then this isn’t going to work because I am trying to recharge. Was finally, maybe, close.”

“Why are you having trouble?” Jazz shifted a little and I adjusted with him.

“I don’t really want to talk about what’s plaguing my recharge while I’m trying. That’s counterproductive.”

Jazz’s hand slid until it rested on my arm. He guessed thoughtfully, “You mentioned earlier your dreams having unhappy themes. That been the case since Ratchet’s team brought you back?”

“No. I had medications to put me into a dreamless recharge until now. This is the first time I’ve been off of non-critical medication.”

“I see," he murmured, almost absently. His fingers started drawing faint designs on my arm, leaving a light tingle in their wake. "If I understand this right, _I_ need to burn off energy and _you_ need something that’ll put you quickly, deeply into recharge.”

My fingers splayed tightly across his lower back, suspecting what he meant but not willing to trust my interpretation of such words and tone. “Where are you going with this, Jazz?”

“Just pondering about how such needs are achieved in a berth.”

Those words and his tone dropping another octave with his baritone voice had my face plating reheating, and every plating touching Jazz came alive. I was hyper aware of his audio horns just under my chin, and that with a helm tilt his face could be a lot closer to mine. “Don’t you think things are, um, complicated enough between us?” This time my stammer was audible.

“Yeah, and I said I wanted to find answers to my questions with you.” He tilted his helm back and looked straight into my optics, a brightness in his visor and a return of that coy smile. “Maybe we can answer some questions and undo some of that complicatedness?”

“I, uh, um…” … am really unprepared for this turn. I cycled my optics and thought how I sounded like a school mechling. “Based on what I believe you're hinting at, I think your concept of answers and burning energy may be fast pace for me.”

“Then how about we see what a taste of my excess energy is like to you? Because about a breem ago my excess energy shot straight up, and I need help stopping my growing problems.” He surged forward with the use of his legs, pulling mine with his, as he pressed his lips fully into mine.

Reflexively my hand on his lower back spasm and I almost pulled back, automatically expecting the whirl of my logic center and battle computer firing up with this sudden turn. But it’s only me and my racing spark inside my helm – wait, that's not right. It’s _me_ reacting to his touch; I’m not the same distant observer as before, watching my spark react.

I kiss back, meeting him with the same pressure, and carefully tightened my hand on his back. I felt his glossa sneak out before Jazz playfully nipped down. A hand found its way into a doorwing joint and I gasped before pulling back, flicking it away.

"Was that wrong?"

"No... no. It's just I usually keep my doorwing sensors dialed down to avoid problems. I only turn the sensors fully on to gather battle data. I forgot how much of a difference physical touch was to a sensor, despite reduced sensitivity." Especially when my neuronet is already sensitive.

"Then I'm going to refamiliarize you with that. You’re running up quite the tab, Prowl," Jazz said with a low ' _tsk tsk_ '. "Answers questions, get rid of all this energy I have that I can't do my normal way because you're tired, get you practically comatose, and now your doorwings. And that's just for what happened since I called for lights out!”

"Is that in addition to my other tab?" reluctantly I asked.

"I’m still upset with you if that’s what you mean, but I’m willing to set that aside for this little adventure. See, _I_ canplan and prioritize personal matters.” He reached out again and carefully brushed his hands against the joint and I shuttered, stifling a verbal reaction.

“I’m not comfortable with this exercise,” I politely but defensively declined.

His hand slipped to my shoulder, but rested without implication. “Why?”

“I haven’t allowed anyone to touch my frame like this in a long time, and you’re asking me to be surprised by how it responds.”

“So, in other words, you’re afraid of losing control.”

My gaze shifted just beyond him; though his face showed no judgment, the point made me uncomfortable. “Not _afraid_ , just not quite comfortable with the prospect.”

Jazz tilted his helm but made no signs indicating judgment. “I never told Optimus what I wanted from you. I told him three different ideas I was considering and he approved all of them as viable, but I told him I wanted to think about it while I waited out Megatron. One was along the lines of you being too tightly wound over control. I think you’re too dangerously wrapped up in fear of relaxing control.”

“Am not. I made one grievous error over thousands of vorns. It may have stemmed from deca-orns of mistaken assumptions and ill-considered actions, but – ”

“But nothing,” he interrupted my counterpoint.

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“You interrupted me first.” He slipped forward and left a chaste kiss on my lips, silencing my next argument. “I’m not trying to berate you. You don’t need to build yourself a defense. If I chew someone out, I like to do it while standing. I can be a lot more animated about it. Jazz likes talking with his hands, it takes ‘Jazz Hands’ to a whole new level.

“I don’t think you’re just too dangerously wrapped up in fear, I think you lost touch with trusting yourself and others. I’m sure you don’t feel any fear beyond fixating on bad odds, but that’s because you stop it at the wrong point. If you were willing to trust yourself to be vulnerable, then you’ll know _you_ can overcome it and stop freezing out your spark. You aren’t going to be crippled by fear. You’re stronger than that. And when you’re willing to be strong during those moments, you can enjoy the other fun moments you block out. Like this moment. It could be fun, but you’re ending your own chances because you fear.” He leaned until he was so close to my lips I could almost feel his. “Enjoy being strong, not complacently riding passenger with Fear driving.”

My body stilled, though I could feel tiny vibrations in my far extremities. I whispered, “What do you want?”

“What do _you_ want? Are you willing to let those filters down a little and find out?”

“What… what if I say no?”

He sighed lightly. “Then I’ll respect your decision, but I won’t stop wanting you to be comfortable with yourself. If you say no, then know that I’ll be there for you if you ever decide on taking the risk.”

I slowly forced my gaze back to his face. I may not read facial expressions or body language well, for the non-logical or social reasons behind them, but I did know judgment cues. None of those tales were visible, nor did I sense any through touch.

“Perhaps just a little risk,” I murmured and adjusted the filters until I could feel small shivers build in my neck and doorwings, and a growing impatience to do more. I think… is this desire? Studying mechs as a lifelong substitute for emotions yielded strange observations and sometimes stranger actions. This felt like what boisterous soldiers described as a desire to drink high-grade while staring with dim optics at someone across the table. I realized I was staring and I saw the light of my optics dancing across his cheek dim. The _want_ permeated from my spark and burned in my lips.

I let go and embraced my spark by closing the sliver of a gap between us, pressing my lips fully into his. When Jazz let out an airy gasp I tightened my grasp and pulled him further into me. A husky moan escaped my vocalizer, “You can touch my doorwings.”

With all the energy of an eager youth but with the touch worthy of only a royal’s polish, Jazz’s hands slipped to both doorwings inner-most joints. His thin fingers slipped around transformation seams, dipping in the right spots to build a kind of tension I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

The heightened sensations of teased transformation seams increased my spark’s pulse with each new addition and I found myself reciprocating the movements. One hand sliding slowly up Jazz’s back, taking the leisurely path by tracing seams. The other hand slipped along his chassis’ seams and up the contours of his neck, teasing straining cables until they relaxed, stopping only when my fingers brushed his audial horn.

A soft sigh escaped Jazz and his glossa began flickering against my lips, hiding away every time my lips moved. His sigh was intoxicating, so I massaged the audial horn to hear it again. His gasp and pressed body was my reward and soon I found myself chasing myself for more rewards as my spark – I – stopped resisting the rushed, not entirely-defined, emotions fuel by his touches, sounds, and the sights of him respond back to me giving in.


	10. Prowl's POV: Steps to an Improved Normal

::Prowl, bro, wakey wakey. Answer your comm.::

I onlined to Smokescreen’s incoming comm. ping and message. ::What?:: I didn’t move or power on my optics, choosing to not yet disrupt the warmth against my chassis and between my arms.

::So… monitor duty tracked you down to last entering Jazz’s quarters. Are you still there? You wouldn’t do something as crazy and non-regulatory as sneak out one of his hypothetical hidden Ops passages. I need to know right now because I’m facing down – well, really I’m _being_ faced down, by an angry Ratchet over ‘losing’ his newest obsession. He knows the same thing I do about monitoring duty’s report, but he figures since Aid didn’t report any worrisome sensor readouts while Crotchety Ratchety recharged, he can take the time to properly shake us down. ‘Properly’ be applied loosely.::

::Yes, I’m in Jazz’s quarters. I’m using his couch.:: Reflexively I squeezed my little ‘secret,’ perhaps my first harmless secret.

“Nuu,” Jazz mumbled. I felt the soft vibrations of his vocalizer along my plating. I powered my optics and saw him curled into my frame. “No squeezing unless you’re willing to follow up with morning fun.”

“I might,” I answered, doing my best to keep my voice from coming across not sound stilted, “but it appears Ratchet plans on soon hunting me down. Currently he’s chewing out my brothers enough to get Smokescreen rambling like Blue. I received a comm. from Smokescreen, in mid-interrogation by one possessive medic.”

“Yeah?” Jazz lazily rolled away and I loosed my grip but didn’t remove my arms. “What’d you say? That you learned that your fondness for tangible concepts does extend to some light play?” Jazz purred.

“That was _light_ play? You and I will have to talk about a few definitions. Of course I didn’t tell him, nor did I tell him that his call disrupted my recharge because I didn’t offline for some time after leaving Bluestreak. I said I rested on your couch. I would very much prefer to keep this between us, without influence of others.”

“No worries,” Jazz replied. He rolled over and off the berth in one fluid motion, his peds dropping lighter than I expected for someone equally, or more, under-recharged. “Never liked being a piece of gossip, and you know two officers doing anything beyond work or platonic activities would just light a Wheeljack-designed explosion.”

“I’m not sure you’re using the expression right…”

Jazz replied but Smokescreen’s comm. played over his words. ::Could you please, oh so pretty please, go to Medbay? Like now? Because Ratchet is really unhappy we let you recharge alone, physically speaking, or even with someone lacking Percy’s ‘Code Blue Prowl’ program. He’s threatening things about me I didn’t know he knew.::

::He threatened to take away your gambling spreadsheets,:: I surmised, deadpan tone.

::Okay, how many officers believe the existence of those imaginary datapads?::

::In this relatively-tiny troop, within tight confines, populated with troublemakers, and a newfound wealth of opportunity for such misadventures? Surely you can calculate the odds on that.::

::What’s climb up your snarky tailpipe?:: Smoke complained glumly. ::Just get over here for your two loving brothers. I’m getting most of Ratchet’s anger, because being the elder brother is only recognized when _you_ are the troublemaker, but Blue’s getting that glint in his optic that says Pit is one word vomit away. And take Jazz with you! I don’t need you showing up unaccompanied on top of it!::

I pushed myself off the berth as I closed the commlink line. “Care to be my official escort? Smokescreen requests that I not further aggravate the situation by gracing Ratchet with a solo appearance.”

“Sure. No more excitement needed in Medbay. Speaking of excitement, we leave ours here?” He nodded at the berth, his optic ridge raised. “Maybe pick it back up when it’s time to retire?”

“The necessity of coming up with a decent cover story aside, to even consider the possibility at this point requires you being Ratchet-approved. His requirements involve that code for pulling you out of recharge immediately if I start displaying spark-attack signs.”

“Alright, so we’ll take later, maybe in your office - except you aren’t on allowed yet on duty so claiming a private debriefing isn’t possible,” Jazz realized with a furrowed look, remembering that normal methods of private conversation weren’t yet available. “How about this: I’ll get that program and you figure out how to shake your shadows.”

“The longer we delay, leaving them to a wrathful Ratchet, the harder that’ll be for me to accomplish.”

“Then let’s go so I can drop you off and get some energon myself. I never got my evening ration, having not expected to spend the rest of my time in my quarters.”

I offered him a silent nod in thanks and stepped out of his quarters. He followed suit, rolling one of his shoulders. I inquired, “I take it your adventure with Mirage required holding your position for an extended period of time?”

“Way too extended. I now know far more about Decepticon inter-social problems than we can use against them, from whining guards failing to do proper patrols, and ya know, _patrol_. It’ll be a while or a really good training exercise to work out all of the stiffness. Just found one behind my rotary cuff.” Suddenly he smirked.

With some suspicion I asked, “What?”

“I’ll let you know when we pick ‘it’ back up.”

I asked Jazz some more questions but he skillfully evaded answering my question, his energy picking up the more he tiptoed around what we weren’t saying. It seems our little exercise in discretion brought Jazz’s mischievous side back in vengeance.

We stepped into Medbay and Jazz barely cleared the door before loudly exclaiming, “He’s here, I brought him, he did not die, my duty is complete. Have fun, I’m off for breakfast and early water cooler news.” He spun about face and slipped back out.

Smokescreen, lounging against the same berth as a frowning Bluestreak, sniped at Ratchet. “See? Fine, just like we and your sensors said. We didn’t make a mistake, we just figured everyone needed a shred of normality. Blue and Sides working together, me being the smartest of the three, Prowl having as much space as allowed, and Jazz brazenly disrupting Prowl’s Quiet Time.”

“Yeah, normal, how about some of that?” Bluestreak chimed.

Ratchet first finished his visual scan while I approached. His irritation was clear in his voice. “Nobody gets normal. Everybody gets checked.”

“What?” Smokescreen and Bluestreak yelped.

“I need to make sure you aren’t malfunctioning and making bad decisions. Prowl, down on that berth,” he ordered while pointing to the next berth over.

I complied, letting Ratchet fuss over me. His tone was more normal when addressing me. “I have questions about the read outs. One set coming out of a recharge and another before falling into a second recharge.”

“Perhaps later, when there isn’t a defensive audience within audio range?” I tried stalling his questioning, realizing I already needed a cover story for what Jazz and I did, let alone what we might do again. Making a believable one up on the spot with a simulator isn’t going to happen. “I am fine now, right?”

Ratchet stopped checking me, looked back at my brothers, before loudly ex-venting and grabbing a datapad. He tapped the screen a few times and I could barely make out his schedule. He lightly ex-vented again and resumed his checks over my systems. “Since technically you haven’t been outside of acceptable ranges since I last saw you, I’m willing to set aside my prodding for later when it won’t be interrupted with outside defensive ramblings. I’ll comm. you when I have an opening in my schedule. Is there anything you need to talk about until then?”

While it wasn’t something I needed before our next discussion, I still contemplated on asking for the dreamless medications. Ultimately I’m more reluctant on trying to figure out how to evade tipping everyone off rather than just dealing with it. I’m beginning to miss my battle computer, the loss of the simulator starting to outweigh the bad experience. Although the bad experience is what’s disrupted my recharge that in turn is causing me to missing my battle computer, turning any solutions into a rather circular logic. I better not dwell on it. Even if circular logic can’t trigger the glitch right now, there’s always later when everything is back online.

After a little bit more checking, Ratchet nodded after my armor covering my spark chamber closed. “You’re fine. Everyone scram.”

Smokescreen and Bluestreak looked at each other and then back at him. Ratchet shook his head. “I don’t actually want to waste my overbooked time on you just for thinking dumb. Consider this your warning, because I _will_ go through with it if you let him be alone or unsupervised. Untrained Autobots do _not_ count as supervision. If you do it again, I might even try the blind challenge.”

Smokescreen’s doorwings twitched and Bluestreak’s lip quivered. The gunner nearly whispered, “What’s the blind challenge?”

Ratchet flashed a rather dark smile. “Let’s just say it’s to prepare for medical emergencies happening before a light source can be secured. Normally done on dummies or drones, but realistic practice can be so important. _Goooodbyyye_.”

Both brothers jumped off their perches, grabbed my hands, and yanked me out the door with them. They didn’t stop fleeing until we cleared Medbay’s entrance by several paces. Even then they only stopped when I pulled back.

“He is trying to scare you, don’t give in so easily,” I admonished.

Smokescreen scoffed. “Like you wouldn’t if the tables were turned. Was Ratchet always like this before being stuck with our crew so long? I feel like there’s no way someone would get to CMO with that attitude, but afterwards being stuck with the same crazy and hard-helmed crew as Prime… Everyone’s nuts.”

I actually know the answer to that question but that’s not for most audios. He’s right about Ratchet being a lot less troubled when he became CMO, but becoming CMO as your race dies around you does things to the mind. Especially when far too many die of their own mistaken sense of immortality. Something I understand far too well as CTO, and realizing I accidently became one of those mechs is more difficult than putting up with Ratchet’s reactions. I’d much rather things let him get it out and return to normal ASAP.

Smokscreen shrugged. “Oh well. Blue, you should go report back to whatever duty you have.”

“Guard duty. Cliff is staying late, per Hide’s order on behalf of Ratchet. You just know Cliff’s going to be a jerk when I resume my duties.”

“Could be worse. I have to do the same but with Tracks and patrol. Have you ever disrupted a wash-and-wax routine of someone who lives by it? Ugh. First I have to walk Prowl to Prime.”

I shook my head. “I am fine and walking around in a fully-staffed, fully-equipped base-of-operations. There’s no reason for anymore disruption or possible resentment from the other soldiers. Plus I noticed that whenever Red Alert’s on duty cameras seem to follow me around.” I pointed to the two out of four tiny ceiling cameras that stopped scanning to fixate on my position.

Bluestreak snickered but Smokescreen noticeably perked his doorwings up. The divisionary tactician eagerly suggested, “Maybe that counts as supervision? I mean, come on, it _is_ Red. Your optics so much as glaze over during a slow step and he’ll have Medbay and half of the officers on the line so fast, you won’t have time to say ‘lost in thought.’”

“A request I’ll fit into my discussions with Prime.”

Smokescreen’s face twitched. “You sure? Maybe we should first practice that like we did with the rest of your upcoming speech.”

Bluestreak chuckled. “Comm. me with what he says. Bye!” He took off and briskly made his way out of sight, to wherever his guard position was located.

We continued to Prime’s door, running a private commlink conversation about my intentions with Prime. Smokescreen kept chiming in with reminders on the body-language lessons he started after my poor attempt at regulation-acceptable bluff-based games. He called one “Go Fish.”

Our arrival was stopped when we found it locked, the tiny display stating that Prime was not to be disturbed, barring emergencies. Smokescreen groaned. “Now what?”

“Knock on Ironhide’s door and request him to fulfill this needless Prowl-watch duty, so that you can fulfill your actually needed duty?”

He grinned and darted the short distance to Ironhide’s door to disappear inside. Soon he returned with Ironhide behind him. “Amazing how I’m still standing here, having been left alone for what seemed like a breem. No chassis-grasping motions or anything.”

“To which Red would’ve been on top of.” Smokescreen motioned at one of several cameras pointed at me. “I mean, damn. Look at all those cameras.”

“I’m at Prime’s door. Most of those cameras are always pointed this way.”

“And yet he felt the need to still redirect a few. Anyway, I’m off!” he nearly ran out of the hallway.

I loudly pondered without really asking, “Is running really necessary?”

“Don’t let it get to you,” Ironhide dismissed. “I told him that Bee wants Tracks gone because Tracks is fed up with staying so much later past shift.”

“Bee and Tracks? An unusual patrol team.”

“I’m just trying to make sure everything is covered and that I don’t match up those who just about melted down from their last partners. I also thought that maybe we should mix things up and feel out situations your battle computer thought too illogical to try.”

I raised an optic ridge at him. “How broad-thinking of you?”

“You sound confused. Let’s go to my office. I have zero interest in being out here for whatever possibly uncomfortable walkout comes from Prime’s office.”

His office was as plain as I remembered it, though in normal conditions its untouched appearance came from disuse. “I thought perhaps there’d be more weapons-related displays, or even actual weapons, given how you don’t care much for staying in offices. I know fulfilling any number of my duties can force others into staying in one place longer than they’d otherwise willingly accept.”

Ironhide glanced at a side wall as he sat. I noticed a few brackets sticking out. “I did, while Ratchet’s team was working on you. Turns out that’s like dangling shinny toys around sparklings when it comes to some of our residents. After several planned break-ins I had to remove it all.”

“Why didn’t I hear about it?”

A smile appeared too fleetingly before he dismissed the concern. “Since I’m backfilling for handing out punishment, I took care of it each time. Didn’t think there was a reason to submit it through official regulations and bog down the system, since it’d come straight back to me. Back to the hallway, what’s confusing you?”

“I wasn’t confused so much as caught off wares,” I replied, reluctantly accepting for the time being his disregard for procedure. I can’t enforce it and I know Prime won’t.

He motioned for me to sit down. I politely declined. “Prime’s meeting might end soon.”

“Or it might not. What, you can’t get back up if you just sat down? When did you get to be Kup’s age?” I narrowed my optics at the older Autobot but sat down. “I’m not use to catching you off-guard, but now that you’re ‘you’ and not your battle computer, I guess it’s possible.”

“That’s what’s catching me off-guard. Why are you making such a distinction?”

Ironhide shrugged. “I guess after vorns of working with you, where you often sound like your battle computer or logic center’s voice, an old ‘bot gets use to thinking along the lines. When trouble went down and I was investigating you, I wasn’t sure what to consider. It sounded and looked like a battle simulation having gone all the way, with the simulator turning it real. By-the-way, when I hand over your responsibilities back to you, we need to talk about how you got that training blade here. It tested my papertrail skills and I ended up having to consult Red Alert, but I know how you snuck it here. I’m both shocked and amazed at how finely you bend the rules without _technically_ breaking any one. Sideswipe should stop calling himself king of rule-book bending.”

“By ‘talk’, you mean have me use the same skills to get you some of the other weapons you want?” I ignored the king remark. Ironhide nodded. “Fine. But I don’t understand what you meant when you said ‘the _simulator_ turning real.’ Unless you meant _simulations_ turning real?”

“I mean simulator. Or the whole battle computer tact-set, more like it. I thought maybe it was the next logical precession in the tact-set operations: first you were the framework supporting possibly the most advance mech-based tactic hardware, then you were its voice; then when the war intensified you became a near-permanent and statue-like resident of the ol’ tact planning room, so maybe you were now its body. Beyond a frame and voice.”

I stared at him, stunned. It took me longer than I’d like to get something comprehendible out. “You… you thought I _was_ the battle computer, not a mech?”

“Before you taking on Sides, I thought you were a mech taking a backseat to the battle computer. Then I thought maybe you jumped out of the car entirely. When Ratchet informed us that you would be online but without any tactic hardware, I was curious what Prowl driving solo in that noggin means.”

“That’s why you’re suddenly making the past distinctions?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

“Oh.” Frowning in thought, I considered old schedule-related discussions with Ironhide, comparing them to now. With considerable hesitance I asked the question he left dangling. “And now?”

He shrugged again. “Didn’t know what to expect, and most of your time has been with your brothers, Ratchet, or the labs. Mostly the only difference I notice or hear is that you’re slower to respond and look confused a little more. Like you’re waiting for your battle computer to say or show you something first. You also aren’t climbing the walls to get away from socializing, though I wasn’t sure if that’s actually you-you, or you only accepting the medically-enforced mandate of zero alone time.” His optics rested on me and he leaned back.

“The latter. At first it was difficult but now I’m finding myself handling it a little better than I expected. Without my battle computer churning out possible solution almost endlessly, it seems easier to allow the situation to progress until I understand enough pieces. I’m not use to such active participation, having always relied on only a few personal observations and being prompted as needed for the preferred hypothetical simulation to come true,” I admitted.

He nodded but didn’t reply. I waited for him to say something since I couldn’t think of what much else to say. I didn’t want to ask why or when he stopped considering me a mech. No answer could be given that wouldn’t plague me after my primary purpose fully onlined.

Ironhide finally broke the silence. “You feel better or worse without being prompted? I’m genuinely interested. You’ve always had it since I knew you. Before you joined the Autobots, even.”

My optic ridges wrinkled as I searched for an analogy relatable to someone without a sophisticated AI living as a part of themselves, always engaged at some level. “It feels like I’m missing an arm. On reflex I wait for it to provide potentially critical input, like I might reflexively grab a nearby cube if I needed fuel. I sense it, yet it doesn’t exist, for all tense and purpose. Feels like a phantom resides in my helm.”

I noted the downcast turn in his optics. “I suppose that doesn’t make me sound very mech-like.”

“I was just wondering if there was a way for it to not be such a reflex for you, relying on it as much as rely on an arm reaching for fuel.”

“I… I don’t know. Why?”

A sound echoed in the hallway and Ironhide glanced at his monitor. “Prime’s free, or at least no longer marking his office to not disturb.”

We both stood up, me a little faster. I asked, “Why do you wonder such things about me?”

He stepped to my side and motioned for me to step out first. “I wonder such things about everyone. We’ve been at war so long even I’d forgotten what living meant until we adjusted to Earth. Sometimes I wonder what others would be like if we could live a little more, not having to always be ready or launching battles against whatever horrors the Decepticons can cook up.”

I chose not to respond to the rather bleak point. Perhaps he saw not bleakness but potential, given his comment about changing my predisposition ways for war, but I don’t know how he could.

I thanked him and stepped into Prime’s office. “Sir,” I said as I stood at attention.

“At ease, Prowl. You’re coming here on your own accord and while on leave.” Prime stood from behind his datapad-covered desk and started stretching his torso and arms. “I could use a moment to relax myself. I haven’t been in my office long but somehow these datapads make it feel like an entire shift’s already passed. Even breaking from them by talking to Jazz didn’t help all that much.”

“Did the conversation at least fare well?”

Prime stopped his movements and nodded at me and his guest chair. He sat in his and once he settled I sat in mine. “We were discussing the mission and some items before he left. Almost well-timed that you’re here because you were one of the points. He hadn’t made a decision regarding you before he left. Now he has and I approved it, but he asked that I let him tell you. Acceptable?”

“Yes. You and I have another matter to discuss. As we speak, my brothers are both assuming their duties later than they should. Aside from the risks of disrupted shift rotations in a warzone, Smokescreen and Bluestreak indicated others are possibly resenting them.”

“I take it you’re bringing this up to propose some sort of solution?” His optics glanced to the side of my helm where my battle computer resides.

“My battle computer is still dormant, if you’re wondering. So is basically every system that Ratchet doesn’t deem necessary because he doesn’t want the risks or increased energy consumption. I still don’t even have my chronometer online. You have no idea how disconcerting it is to never know the exact time unless someone actually says it. If he refuses to turn it back on soon I’ll be requesting that we requisition some clocks.”

Prime allowed a low chuckle and I continued. “I don’t like being a hindrance to our normal operations, if I’m not allowed to be a part of it just yet. I’ve been watching for signs of deterioration from my lack of presence. I commend you and the other officers for doing well, from when I was entirely offline and up through now.”

I noted the subtle brightness increase in his optics and recalled Smokescreen’s coaching. I check for signs of displease, if my words can be mistaken as implication of impending failure, but his frame remains much the same. “As such, your efforts may be undermined by keeping me disengaged from my duties, in part because I appear fine to the troops. The only tip that something is amiss is my constant supervision. Undoubtedly that is causing confusion, and the last few conversations I’ve witness imply a growing negative undertone.

“Red Alert, although he hasn’t said anything, has also been acting similar to my attendants but invisibly via cameras. We both know he wouldn’t stop watching me if asked. Perhaps it would be best to all if we allow him to continue while ending the mandate for physical attendants, thus allowing everyone else to return to their normal duties. My brothers may still recharge with me while the concern still exists.”

Optimus slowly looked me up and down, still no evidence in his body language what he intended. This might be the last time I tolerate one of Smokescreen’s body-language lessons because so far I can’t tell what Prime’s thinking. “You’re right about there being some misunderstandings. Being in a warzone, even if it’s lower activity than we’ve seen in a long time, has put some Autobots on edge to see you walking around with a constant, medically-approved escort. As Jazz’s mission reminded me, these low activity times aren’t necessarily easier times. Decepticon tactics are taking on more subterfuge. Megatron’s finding ways to steal as much raw material as he can before attacking, rather than attacking straight out and stealing what little processed material is left. We still have time, based on Mirage’s newest report, but I’m considering putting you on light-duty.”

“You’d be overriding Ratchet. I’m not complaining, only cautioning so you don’t later undo your order.”

“I’m not asking for him to active any of your offline systems, ‘though admittedly Jazz’s mission report makes me miss the comfort in your full tactical skills. All appears on-track, and yet if something happens it’ll happen fast. As far as escorts go, I find your proposal acceptable. I’ll have Red install a camera in your office.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t already? Given the cameras following me, I suspect he’s added some in my office. So far I haven’t found any in my quarters, but I can envision him modifying my office while it’s been empty.”

He leaned forward and tapped a few keys on his computer. “According to _Teletraan_ , there are four new cameras installed in your office, plus a new monitoring access point to prevent unauthorized access. It’s installed in Red’s office. Since that task is apparently done, which means I’ll be talking to Red once again about his ‘pre-authorized’ changes, I’ll happily give you some work from my desk. I’ll tell _Teletraan_ to authorize your access codes again and send notifications to everyone already involved.”

“Please do.” I practically thrust my hands out so he can place datapads in them. “If there’s a box here, please feel free to fill it up.”

“Relax, Prowl. I’ll hand you a few now. When you’re done, come back here and I’ll have a box prepared for you.” He handed me only seven datapads. I snapped into a standing solute position, as much as possible with seven datapads, and dismissed myself.

I stood at my office door, inputting my access code every twenty counted kliks until _Teletraan_ finally accepted my renewed authorization and let me in. I nearly scrapped my doorwing against the receding door as I slipped inside, my olfactory senses greeted with the missed smell of used office cleaning supplies.

 

|\/\/\/|

 

By mid-shift I was already two-thirds through Prime’s box. It wasn’t as much as I hoped, so I started pinging Ironhide, Red Alert, Jazz, and the labs for work. Wheeljack replied that he had work and so did Ironhide. Wheeljack I’d meet in the labs later and Ironhide would drop off the work once he finished his checks. Red Alert’s reply was rather cryptic but I’m pretty sure it was the equivalent of “no.” He said if I couldn’t break down his answer accurately, then I wasn’t ready for the remaining items in his inbox.

My door opened and Jazz popped in with two energon cubes. “Break time!”

“I just started,” I protested, moving my box closer to me so he couldn’t take it away.

“Well that’s simply not true. Do you know how long you’ve been in here?”

“No, because Ratchet turned off my chronometer,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but you got your shift clock – oh hey, who turned that off?” He put down the cubes and reset the countdown clock.

“That’s not enough time.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not,” I insisted, never mind that I didn’t yet have the workload needed to keep me busy until the scheduled end.

“Yes, it is because you’re getting off with the end of my shift.” He smirked as he flopped back down in his usual chair, taking one cube while pushing the other in my direction. “I talked to Prime. He agreed with my point that you need to learn trust in yourself and others. You and I are going to do ‘trust exercises’ later.”

“I trust myself.”

“No, you trust your battle computer,” he retaliated.

I hesitated and took a moment to slowly sip some energon. “Ultimately everyone does, whether they understand it or not. Prime mentioned missing it a little bit ago. However, my blind faith in it has been shaken somewhat, now that I’m not so ignorant to its capabilities.”

“Then this is the right time for trust exercises,” he nonchalantly replied with a gulp.

“Despite everything, I still feel at-risk without its reassurances,” I said into my cube, before taking another slow sip. If he wants to do “trust exercises”, in a way that I strongly suspect will be very unorthodox, then I need something a little more assuring than a smile.

“What might that be?”

“I’m not sure, but I suspect it’d be running a simulation on you.”

“That’s not exactly comforting; as a battle computer, wouldn’t it be inclined to present the most likely of the worst case scenarios?”

“It presents the most likely case, followed by the worst and best. I regularly run checks for system bias and it’s never exceeded the allowed margin of error.”

“Your considerations might be too narrow, because evidently it’s got some inclinations beyond calculated biases. Like what it did to Sideswipe, or when it named itself.”

My optics snapped to his visor, fixating on where his optics resided. “What it did to Sideswipe, I do unfortunately know where that came from. I told you about my own issues; it unfortunately acted on that. However, I’m far more interested in your more peculiar point: what you mean my battle computer _named_ itself?”

Jazz’s cheeks pinched and I could tell he was glaring into his cube from behind that visor. Perhaps Smokescreen’s lessons during the forced work-hiatus is showing some merits. “Honestly, I’m surprised Ratchet hasn’t told you yet.” Jazz finished the last of his energon and set the cube down.

“In all of my appointments with the medical team, not once has anyone said anything beyond their satisfaction it hasn’t booted itself back on. Every time I talk to you I feel like I’m further in the dark than others want me to know.”

“Talking things out can be really tough. I _was_ planning to leave the battle computer thing to Ratchet…” He slightly frown when he rolled Ratchet’s name. My doorwings tensed as Jazz took an unusually slow time to answer. “Before they brought you back, they had me hack your battle computer to make sure it stayed offline.”

My face must have given something away because Jazz instantly sat up straight and reach for my hand. He seized it and leaned into my desk. “Don’t worry, it all worked out.”

“You hacked your way into my helm? Jazz, you know I hate anything even close to mnemosurgery.” I tried pulling my hand back but he only squeezed his around mine.

“Me too. I didn’t want to do it, but it was that or risk you crashing. If you crashing during that re-integration surgery, there wouldn’t be a chance of you surviving. Prowler, I had to pick between doing something I despised, and letting something higher decide your fate. I chose being a part of what keeps you here over my personal comfort.”

I stared at him, a sinking feel in my spark. “I’m sorry I accused you of disregarding my privacy. I – thank you.”

He squeezed my hand once more and then leaned back, letting his hand loosen until it was barely covering mine. I finished my energon. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Right, that. During the hack your battle computer kept annoying me by insistently referring to itself as ‘Entity.’ Finally it stopped but by giving itself a name. Called itself Barricade.” He shrugged.

“Hmm. That’ll be an interesting change when it onlines.” Not particularly fond of that development, but the warning is good. I’ll need to carefully approach my internal synchronizing come time to fully resume my primary purpose. Assuming I don’t succumb to the battle computer need/cause/need circular logic risk upon engaging all of my tactical hardware.

I set my empty cube aside, glancing at Jazz. I noticed his wringing hands, slight as the motion was, and I could make out the soft sounds of shift peds. Given the little mishap when we were in his berth, where I discovered that there’s one spot on his lower back to _not_ touch, I recognized it. “You’re uncomfortable with something.”

“Just thinking about how before recharge I said you and I need to talk alone about what I’m unhappy about, then after recharge I mentioned talking privately in your office for different reasons, only to realize that _then_ it wasn’t an option. Now it is an option, but I don’t know what to talk about because I’ve got two very different things on my mind.”

I nodded slowly. “I don’t know what you intend for later, but if you’d feel better about resolving what’s upset you while here, I’m willing to listen.”

He shifted in his chair. “I want your full attention. I don’t want to be competing with your datapads.”

“You won’t, I promise. What’s left is barely any work for me, crippled or not. Vorns of these reports have engrained the process in me as much as it has my battle computer. At some point I’m to visit Wheeljack but that’s nothing for me to think about now. Ironhide will be stopping by, but I have no idea when. I’m sure it’s nothing that needs immediate addressing or he’d bring it now. Instead he’s doing training weapons check, and you know how he fixates on every tiny detail of each weapon.”

“Indeed. It’s why he had almost a zero incident count of weapons malfunction, even with ones we almost never use. So… yeah. Let’s have that conversation now. Lock the door because I don’t want someone barging in.”

He squared his position in his chair, looking me straight into my optics as I remotely locked the door. There was no preamble for what he had to say, Jazz choosing to start straight at the heart of what was upsetting him. “You almost died, and you let it happen, _and_ you made me an unwitting accomplice. Those two points – your dying and you putting me in that position of accidental-suicide-accessory-whatever – are the hardest sticking points for me.”

I winced from the accusation. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to hurt anyone, but I didn’t want to involve anyone, either.”

“Yeah, I got that from your points before our fun-time nap. The explanation helps but it doesn’t undo knowing what it’s like carrying a dying spark.”

My vents hitched. “What?”

“I take it no one’s explained what happened after Sides got you down that hill?”

I shook my helm, trying to ignore a pained tug in my spark. When it wouldn’t disappear I tried increasing my air intake to ease the chassis pressure but I couldn’t, as if my vents were flash-frozen shut. “Prime’s ordered all to leave the opening dialogue to Ratchet so I first understand the center-point of a medically-induced emergency, and Ratchet said he’s waiting for the right moment. I wasn’t even aware about being carried by Sideswipe. The conversation _almost_ happened with Bluestreak, although I’m getting the sense he’s trying to think of anything _but_ that. Regardless, I’m not sure what Ratchet’s looking for to make a moment right.”

“Maybe he’s not actually waiting for any particular moment, maybe he’s waiting until he can talk about it without adding another crack to his shell. The experience was hard on me and I dealt with it for a tiny fraction compared to him. I mean Pit, Ratchet finally relaxes in a long time and decides to celebrate with a few drinks, and what happens? But that’s between you and him.

“I don’t care if I’m violating Prime’s order because I’ll tell you my problem. When Ratchet had to react fast he only could use those around him, which included not one of the other medically-trained personnel. So most of the medic-aid duties fell to me. _Me_. I had to – ” he stopped suddenly, his visor flashing bright several times before returning to an intensity more typical of a hard-pressed Jazz. The pained spark tug morphed into a squeeze.

He restarted, his denta partially grinded. “I had to help extract your guttering spark. I saw it dying. I had to prep your sparkless body and help him load it into Prime’s trailer. You don’t have any idea how different it is to deal with a mech dying in two separate parts, spark in one hand and frame in the other. Not only was your spark dying in some chamber that Ratchet modified with guestimated ideas on how to stop a spark-attack, but then we had to make sure there was no severe damage to your frame that Ratchet wouldn’t be able to repair. Can you imagine, he performs a miracle of saving your spark only to have no frame to put it into because Autobots can’t get their hands on the replacement materials? I suppose we’re lucky that only your energon lines were at immediate risk, and Ratchet had a plan for that. I guess I should be thankful Ratchet didn’t’ find any _other_ problems that couldn’t wait, because prepping energon lines was creepy enough. Anything else would’ve been me because one twin was injured, the other was pinning down your distraught brother, and Prime was watching your spark.”

My tanks churned with cold unease as the constricting squeeze around my spark grew tighter. I regretted having this conversation so soon after refueling. I leaned forward on my desk, putting one hand under my chin for support and the other on my neck, pressing on my energon intake valve to keep anything from coming back up. Using my vocalizer was out of the question, least my voice croak from the pressure. Maybe from something else, too. ::Then what happened?::

He showed no reaction to my change in communication method. “A lot happened. Prime rushed you here and naturally that set off the rumor mill – or would have, had it not been stopped quickly. You can thank Hide for that. We waited to hear an initial prognosis and for Aid to come out to repair Sides. Got Sides’s story, which was basically how crazy things were and the stress of trying for a solution that didn’t end with him beating the Autobot SIC unconscious. Red Alert set operations to max defense as much as we could without tipping off possible spies.

“After that I confessed to Optimus and Ratchet what I knew from yours and my conversation regarding the problems you were having with the filters. You can imagine how that went, though Ratchet mostly said he’d reserve being upset at me for later.” Jazz suddenly ex-vented and he paused long enough for his voice’s edge to soften slightly. “Think he was emotionally completely spent at that point. Wouldn’t be surprised if he had a raging helmache considering how his plans turned. Eventually the ordeal ended with Prime letting me know just how much I disappointed him.”

Pausing long enough to relive that moment, his recap returned to that hard-pressed, edged tone. He rolled his shoulders, sitting up a little straighter. “There’s more to it than that, as if that wasn’t enough, but I was so fed up I decided to go spend time with the Decepticons to not think about it anymore. You have no idea what it’s like to have someone important to you literally dying in your hands, basically get called out by Prime for screwing up, and then find solace in an infiltration mission right inside the enemy’s home. I even decided to take the time and recharge right under Decepticon peds.”

::How – How could Prime accuse you of any fault?::

“Because I knew you were lying and having trouble post-surgery. He was diplomatic about it, per usual,” he added before slumping back in the chair. “Not sure if that’s better or worse. Being told off might have been easier to hear than sitting through a detailed lecture in how he was frustrated with me.”

I only stared at Jazz, entirely and utterly lost for words. He said a hard issue for him was holding my… an unpleasant state of my existence in his hands. He even pointed out how I couldn’t fathom the pain of that position, and he’s right. Too few have ever been important to me beyond the greater whole, and I literally put over half of them through that.

A streak of coolness on my cheek drew my attention. Strange, coolant lines don’t have temperature inconsistencies at such localized levels. I reached up and touched the plating to see if outer temperatures were the cause, discovering an unexpected wetness. Pulling my fingers away I stared at the coolant, not anticipating it being on the outside.

“Are you –” Jazz started but his question ended as abruptly as it started. “Have you ever?”

I rubbed the spilled drops of fluid away from my fingertips. I focused on keeping my vocalizer as even as possible as I lessened my hand’s pressure. What came out was still weak in tone. “I don’t remember. Maybe when I was first left alone in Kaon, but there’s very little I remember from then. Spent too much of my youth unable to sense any emotion, and then spent most of adulthood curtailing anything confusing or difficult.”

I stared at my fingertips before realizing that same temperature disruption was building at my optic. I touched it and stared when my fingertips came back wet again.

“Come here.”

I gazed at Jazz who was motioning me towards him. “Why?”

“Because there’s more room on this side of the desk.”

That didn’t answer the intent behind my question but I wasn’t about to argue anything right now. Standing required using my arms against my desk and I was thankful it wasn’t a particularly wide or long furniture set. Each step lost sturdiness and the last one ended with Jazz pulling me into his side. His arms wrapped around me, and that crushing pain in my spark finally eased a little. I reciprocated, hoping the action would do the same for him.

I don’t know how long we were like that, but neither of us spoke before I found a steady voice. “Why are you even interested in knowing me better? I’m so sorry Jazz and I’d understand, perhaps it should even been expected, you wanting us to be nothing more than professional. Whatever you need.”

One of his hands rubbed my back upward along my spinal struts until it rested on my midback. “I’m more of one for judging a mech on the whole of his actions. Before things went to hell in a hand-basket, to use a human phrase, I guess it was how things kept positively evolving between us, even at its super slow pace. When I get you to genuinely smile, the war feels a little less heavy. When _you_ try getting me to laugh, I feel less defined by the war, even if you don’t succeed. Being head of Special Ops, the TIC, and the local morale officer all define me and they’re _all_ based on war. The mech who loves human culture? Most of what I get to do with human culture is media spin about our war, or apply it as the morale officer role. I’ve got friends, but only a few I can do something fun without it being about any of those definitions. With you… with you it’s more. It’s kind of hard to define better right now.”

“Oh. Well, I hope I can restore whatever there was, even if it’s moments of less war-wariness. I owe you at least that for what I made you endure.”

He squeezed his arms. “It’s hard to define because right now my mind is in a lot of places. I need a few breems to pull it back together. I know that despite all of what’s happened, I _don’t_ want to be purely professional. You made my last recharge pretty unprofessionally fun.” He flicked the bottom edge of my doorwing teasingly. “Definitely a nice ending to a mission, and definitely a lot less war-wary.”

I nodded. “Good. For what it’s worth, I’m willing to let you dictate where we go next.”

“That’s good, especially since the totally more emotionally mature one should. Right now I’m just going to enjoy this and try not doing anything that might cause me blame for breaking Prowl again.” He poked my cheek.

I smacked his shoulder but remained quiet. We relaxed in place for a little longer until Jazz received an alert to report to Prime’s office. He cycled his vents and I moved up and away completely, giving him space to stretch and reset himself. I waited for him to speak first.

“Time to be officers again. Wait for me after your shift?”

“Comm. me. I may be in the labs or with Ratchet.” I remotely unlocked the door while keeping my optics on Jazz.

Jazz snickered. “Okay. Pace yourself, alright? Don’t burn out.”

“Hardly difficult. The work is so little and I’m running so few non-essential systems that I’m working at an almost lazy level.”

“Ha, you being lazy doesn’t exist.” He smiled at me and I could pick out a few forced lines radiating from the corners, but I said nothing as he departed. I watched the door close with both nothing and everything playing on my mind. Finally I turned around to sit at my desk – only to see the tiny, burnt-orange dot in the distant ceiling corner. Red Alert’s cameras!

My plates heated up again, but unlike the first time with Jazz there was no pleasant fluttering spark associated. ::Red, were you watching me?::

A polite voice replied, as if my barely-contained alarm wasn’t at all detected by the shrewd mech. ::Are you and Jazz done talking?::

::Don’t pretend you don’t know.:: If I had my battle computer, it would’ve known and told me before I encouraged Jazz’s vulnerability. Now everything will be out, because there’s no way a mech so skilled at picking up the tiniest detail would miss our conversation laced with the romantic entanglement issues Jazz and I have been through. He’s not one for gossip, but how could someone so paranoid and skeptical not inform other officers? I can practically hear him listing all of the associated risks, blue sparks crackling between his horns. What do I do now?

::I actually don’t. When I realized it was a personal visit, I thought to give you two time alone. I activated the spark signature detector in case of any usual signature changes. I turned off the cameras and audio. May I turn them back on now or is the personal visit still in progress?::

::You did? You gave us space? Wait, you have a spark signature detector in my office? When did you install that? Prime didn’t mention it when he read about the new installations in my office.::

::Inferno is teaching me the importance of respecting privacy. It’s not easy but I _am_ trying. I never said the detector was new. All offices have them, in case of unscheduled visitors alone in an officer’s office. I did it a while ago. Prime may not have set the time window for security changes far enough back to list the detector as new equipment.::

::That is incredibly sneaky and technically a violation of procedures with your persistent misapplication of pre-authorization; however, since dismissing my attendants in favor of your camera stalking has been a benefit, I’m willing to allow a grace period of you reporting it to Prime without reprimand from me.::

::Well, now I have to run the spark signature detector again and see if it’s really you. Tell me where Smokescreen hides his gambling spreads so I can verify if you’re really the Autobot SIC.::

Is he messing with me or is he legitimately paranoid? Beginning to think I know nothing anymore without my statistics, e.g. the likelihood in this instance of a sarcastic Red versus a suspicious Red. ::You and I have never discussed that, so you can’t verify anything about me from such information.::

::Right response. I shall resume my security details,:: he answered and ended the commlink conversation. The camera and two of the three others moved slightly, pointing more at me standing by my chair rather than on my chair. The last camera remained fixed on my door.

I sat down and grabbed a few datapads from my box, continuing the motions of administrative management despite my concerns still keeping my focus on Red Alert and my initial fear. If he had witness everything he’d be more likely to confront me rather than lie. With my battle computer I could find a way to question him and determine what he knows and what he intends, or I could trust him and leave the matter alone.

I laid out two similar datapads and looked them over for completion as I weighed my options. I’ll try trusting him and my instincts about his straightforwardness.

The issue of discovery about Jazz and I is a greater possibility if I don’t find a decent cover story or answer for Ratchet on what I was doing that altered spark activity when I was supposed to be recharging. Probably should have told Jazz about that.


	11. Prowl's POV: Harmony

The end of my allotted shift happened in the labs while reviewing Wheeljack’s shuffled mistaken orders. However, it wasn’t Wheeljack that marked my shift’s end, or even Jazz, but rather Sideswipe.

The giddy frontliner pounced into the room. “Guess what? No, I can’t wait for you to guess. Prime is suspending the rest of your non-checkup-up time with Ratchet until Megatron is beaten back into his watery hole of a home.”

Placing my stylus down, I looked him squarely in the optics. “And this makes you excited why?”

“For one it means you’re doing more active duties and you’re now fair play again. But what’s far, _far_ more important is that I’ve got no reason to hold back on telling you what I have plan for you owing me. I'd argue Prime’s orders make it _even_ better.”

Wheeljack stopped his tinkering with some of his under-reported supplies and looked at Sideswipe. “Can’t this wait until after he’s helped me with my supplies issue?”

“I’m just here to give him the awesome news. Hide is amending the schedules now for ‘Prowlly and me’ time. You know how he was checking training weapons, including a certain newly discovered one?” he smugly asked with that same cheeky grin he flashes when he thinks he has me in an awkward position.

I refused to answer him. When he realized I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted his grin became a pout but he resumed his taunting speech. “Well, starting next primary shift, you and I are going to prepare for our training exercise demonstrations! Then one shift per rotation we’ll be actually training those selected by Hide. One thing that impressed upon me during our fight is how a smaller, non-combatant like yourself managed to put yourself in control. Yeah, I wasn’t about to beat down my SIC and try to claim ‘self-defense’ without proof, but I didn’t expect being almost stuck while you perched on top of me. If I were into autoerotic blackout it would’ve been kinky. You and I are going to train all the smaller ‘bots, non-combatants, and anyone else we miss who could benefit from learning those tricks.”

I stared at him, briefly distracted by rapidly dismissing images attempting to form against my will. “What are you getting out of this?”

“Well, for one I’ll be covering less Autobot afts if more can handle battle better, and I prefer to _really_ enjoy a good Decepticon beat down without having to divide my attention. But really, I’m looking forward to sparring with you.”

“We’re actually going to spar? That’s completely illogical and I’m genuinely relieved my logic center isn’t back online. How much and what kind of sparing?”

“Let’s just say Ratchet will be there for our planning session to determine how much _I_ can get away, since training is only as good as its realistic-ness. How much and what kind is up to him and me, but mostly me because he said ‘go for it’ as long as I don’t put you back in Medbay. _Oh_ , the training toys I’ve selected for you, 'though some just didn't seem right enough for our precious - nay, _magical_ \- moments together, so those I _tenderly_ modified for you. Have fun with Jack and don’t be late!” He hopped up, did a few boxing moves, and then bounced back out.

I don’t know how long my optics stayed on the door until Jazz came into the lab. “What’s with the looks?”

“Jazz,” I acknowledge with a helm shake. “I thought you were going to comm. me.”

“I did. You didn’t answer my pings.”

“Oh, apologies. I was distracted. Sideswipe just informed me that Prime is allowing him to fight me for training demonstrations, so long as Ratchet says it won’t require repairs.”

Jazz whistled. “That’s a new one. Why does Sides need practice fighting you?”

“It’s not about him practicing against me, but rather me demonstrating to mechs like me how to gain control over mechs like him.”

“Sounds sweet. I can’t wait to see it.” I stared at him incredulously. “Ready to go?”

Wheeljack dramatically ex-vented, but his fins flashed what Jazz called "humorous blue". “I’ll finish this by myself. It sounds like Prowl’s time will be very busy for a while.”

“I’ll try to make it back,” I promised. “They aren’t giving me enough work to keep me busy around my restitution beatings, although I can’t say anything more definitive since evidently Prime is allowing that to take on a more literal definition.”

His fins flashed more brightly. “Looking forward to it. The help, not the beatings thing.”

When we were in the hallway I pointed out to Jazz, “You know that Sideswipe isn’t doing this training exercise to be ‘sweet’, or whatever you think makes it sound sweet.”

“No, but you know he’s playing it up as much as he can since both Prime and Ratchet have to approve. One tiny discoloration on you that _might_ be a light energon bruise and Ratchet will cut Sides off. Not that Sides would intentionally hurt you anyways; he’s more of a talker if you aren’t one of the mechs on his ‘forever hate’ list. Granted that's not a small list, but I'm pretty sure you're just on his 'forever annoy' list, not the hate one.”

“If only I had your optimism.”

“If only you had my trust in our comrades, that they ultimately have good intentions. Even if it’s disguised in taunts and pranks.”

“I tried a little trust earlier,” I informed him. “Are we going to your quarters or mine? I haven’t spoken to my brothers since Prime removed my escort-at-all-times requirement. Now it’s only when I recharge.”

“Mine. I told the duo that you owe me what’s left of our conversation that Smokey’s please-oh-please-come-to-Medbay begging comm. interrupted. I may have implied it was going to be a length conversation.” He added, dropping a few octaves before chucking.

“What did you say to them?”

“That we were going to have a long-awaited conversation over some benign activities, chess or movies or whatever. Relax, I told you before I wanted nothing that might cause misunderstandings.”

His grin, similar to the one Sideswipe gave me earlier but with a different _sense_ to it, was met with a very pointed look.

Jazz ex-vented and straightened his posture. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave for the rest of this walk. So, you trusted someone?”

::Red Alert has my office wired,:: I privately comm.’d him, aware that we were walking right under Red’s cameras. ::I thought he might have spied yours and my conversation but he swears he didn’t. Part of me wants to rush bringing back online my battle computer and coming up with plans to investigate the truthfulness of his claim. However, I am trying my best to trust him. It’s a little hard. Probably will be quite difficult once my battle computer is actually on.::

::Ahh. I’ll keep an optic on him. Makes sneaking around extra hot if we can get around Red. You just focus on not treating Red like a potential weakness or threat. Personally, though, I wish you’d said something before I more-or-less laid my spark bare.::

Sheepishly I could only reply, ::I forgot.::

::You _forgot_? You forget nothing!::

::Because of my battle computer! I never had to store those details in my processor because the AI always took care of that type of data. I’m not in the habit of remembering who’s watching who because that’s more apt for data processing.::

Out loud Jazz laughed. ::What do _you_ remember?::

::The things my battle computer doesn’t, or rather what it purges from its databanks and would be lost if not for me. Example, what it’s like to have family. My battle computer sees Blue a liability, and Smokescreen a risk to non-tactical operations. I see them as brothers. Even when either one is trying to sneak around breaking regulations. Smokescreen has no idea how much of his illegal activities I actually overlook, even when I threaten to throw him in the brig for the more serious ones. In a way, I can afford to overlook many of his minor indiscretions because there’s plenty of serious ones I won’t let slide.::

I glimpsed a fleeting smile. ::You two have a weird sibling relationship.::

We were almost in to the hallway junction where Bluestreak and I met Sideswipe when I received a message from Ratchet. ::Hey, you. Come down to my Medbay.::

::When?::

::If I don’t say ‘when’, then what do you think that means?::

I frowned and held my hand up to signal stop to Jazz. ::Now?::

::If I could pick I’d say ten breems ago, but as Perceptor still hasn’t filled my request for a device I can hit rewind on the world, now will do.::

“Care to take a detour with me to Medbay?” ::I might need your help. Ratchet wants to know what I was doing that increased spark activity right before my second recharge. Everything I come up with I can see him arguing that it wouldn’t elicit the same spark reaction. I’m not used to my obstacle being _medical_ data. Usually it's dense mechs giving me attitude, or those who hopelessly romanticize missions instead of hearing out the analytics.::

He chuckled. “Sure.” ::Ask him to see the results and timeline because you’re curious what it looks like. Then just go with the flow.::

I faintly scowled as we started walking. ::And just how does one ‘go with the flow’ without a simulator to project the flow, and a battle computer to calculate the best path to navigate around currents?::

::Wow, I suppose… I can’t even figure how to translate Jazz-speak into Prowl-speak for that one. This lack of tactical hardware is kind of like debugging Prowl, or reevaluating the mech versus the upgrades.::

::Are you implying I’m flawed?:: Even I detected a hint of accusation in my voice.

::Nope, I’m saying you’re falsely secured by your tac hardware. Better to find out now instead of behind enemy lines, should something happen.::

Well that’s a sobering thought.

Jazz nudged me playfully. ::I’m happy to help you ‘debug’ and figuring out what makes _you_ unique.::

::What a tactful way of saying ‘I’ll help you be less weak’ while also giving yourself leverage over how that might play out.::

He chuckled. ::You aren’t weak, just under exposed to your real self. And hey, I like exploring new things. Finding out the real Prowl? Totally worth exploring.::

We arrived momentarily later with Ratchet standing almost right inside the door, arms crossed, looking a little more annoyed than he sounded on the comm. “How was your shift?” he asked, less agitation to his usual accustomed tone. Suspicious.

“Without stress, excluding Sideswipe’s announcement.”

“Ah yes, that. We’ll discuss it later, during the practice match warm up. Don’t worry, he knows he’s not allowed to mar the hard work put into you. You’re here now because Prime and I finally finished a conversation involving you. I was going to comm. you here earlier since I managed to work ahead of my schedule, but then Prime wanted to talk about his concerns.”

Oh no?

He huffed. “It’s been _pressed upon_ me, and unfortunately after a heated argument I _unhappily_ agreed, the importance of bringing all of your systems fully online within the deca-orn. We’re going to do this _very_ carefully, especially since your tac-set is what caused all of this. Well, it and your personality but I’ve got no control over the latter. I want to get a new baseline on your systems, so I need you to sit quietly hooked up to a bunch of machines while I download system data and sensor readings.”

Jazz raised his hand halfway. “Can I hang out? Prowl and I had plans, regarding what he owes me.”

“Sure, as long as you don’t do anything that screws up my readings.” The medic nodded and moved back to the private room I’d come to know far too well. I followed him back to a berth surrounded by machines chirping away. He hooked the lines across my medical ports and frame, including the main connection port for all the new spark chamber sensors just underneath my armored plating. I have a hunch this will act like a lie detector. Jazz pulled up a chair to my side opposite of Ratchet.

While Ratchet fiddled around I asked, “Do you think you could turn back on my chronometer before I leave?”

Ratchet’s mouth twitched into a pursed frown. “I don’t know if I want to yet. This is for baselining.”

“If you do so, then there’s no excuse for me being late to Sideswipe’s training.” Not that Sideswipe would allow that anyways. I can envision him doing to me what I do to him when I doubt his on-time attendance to punishment detail.

Ratchet’s frown disappeared. “Good point.”

Jazz and I calmly discussed work for the most part, while Ratchet poked, prodded, and took readings. Whenever Ratchet eyed Jazz like he was considering throwing him out, Jazz would say something about making me “suffer” and Ratchet would go back to ignoring him. After the third time I started growing suspicious that Jazz was speaking in a covertly ironic way.

I sent him a private warning. ::Your use of “suffering” is coming off as filled with double meaning and I don’t like you playing so dangerously while I’m strapped to detection machines. What if - ::

“Mph!” I grinded my denta when Ratchet flicked my chevron.

“Don’t use your commlink. It’s altering some of these readings,” he scolded.

On my other side a frame I could see the saboteur’s obvious internal laughter, despite his silent vocalizer. I glared at him until he settled down. Jazz asked, “Ratchet, you almost done yet? I’m so looking forward to Prowl’s closed-off-ness _suffering_ at my hands.”

“Almost. I have questions for him and then I can start disconnecting him. When I’m doing that I want you to tell me what you have plan, just to make sure it doesn’t do anything to undermine me.”

Jazz’s face fell and I smirked at him.

Ratchet ignored Jazz in favor of turning his attention fully on me. “Time to talk about what happened earlier so I know if it’ll impact my baseline. No trying to wiggle out of it by saying Jazz is here like you did earlier by pointing fingers at your brothers. I’ll kick him out if you try.”

“What if it’s private?” I tried first.

“Oh, _you_ do _not_ get to argue that,” he tersely replied before slipping back to prodding. “You can’t really argue ‘too private’ because the readings aren’t that sky high. They don’t imply you getting ‘faced into oblivion. Even if you were, I wouldn’t be asking who was touching what per heightened reading.”

Jazz bursted out laughing and my face just about burned off. “Can I, ah,” I tried starting back up with Jazz’s idea but I had to stop and wait for the heated plating to become normal again. Ever since upgrading into my adult frame no one has ever discussed such activities around me without thinking it was said behind my back, and suddenly I get two sly comments to my face within joors of each other? In addition to Jazz’s boldness in his quarters? I hope it’s a coincidence and not related to what Ironhide saying that I seem different without my tac-set running. Because if that’s making the difference… I may have to rethink some things.

Jazz’s frame heaved and he nearly fell off the chair. He managed to catch himself on the berth and forced his hysterics (in my opinion) down to a giggle. “Oh, the images of that conversation.” He started laughing again but managed to hold himself together a little better. “I can explain, at least whatever registered after I ran into him with Blue.”

Ratchet, completely impassive at the two responses, shook his helm. “I’m aware he was in your quarters but it’s better to hear it from the patient.”

“Then I think you’re going to be waiting a little bit,” he countered between a renewed short fit.

The CMO glanced my way, sighing but also grinning. “Looks like. Never knew how easy it was to make Prowl blush without his tac-set. Don’t know how to recover, do you?” He snickered at me. To Jazz he said, “Fine. What?”

I wanted to look at Jazz pleadingly but with Ratchet _right there_ I couldn’t.

“I accidently smacked one of Prowl’s doorwings pretty good when we were watching a movie since I was being my usual unstill self after staying prone during a mission far too long. I offered to massage the smacked sensors. Turns out I’m better than I thought because he fell into recharge on my couch, engine purring.”

How is my face not melted?

Despite that thought my shoulders dropped back, relieved by the mildly less compromising lie. Ratchet mistook the motion. “Cheer up, Prowl, I’m not going to tell anyone Jazz does such a good job undoing minor damage it gets your spark going before passing out. Though maybe the next wing-based frame to walk in here complaining about sensor pain, I ought to send them to Jazz. Head of Special Ops, Third-In-Command, now part-time massage therapist.”

“Mmhmm, now that sounds like all kinds of possible fun,” my companion light-heartedly teased the idea.

Ratchet shook his helm. “Possible new calling for Jazz aside, I’m glad I got that question answered. Still don’t have the answer about what happened to disrupt your recharge _before_ running into Jazz?”

Right, my nightmare. The thought of it drained the heat out of my face. “An unpleasant dream coupled with being nearly compressed between two frames.”

Ratchet narrowed his optics at me in careful examination and I focused on anticipating his next question. “Did whatever was in this ‘unpleasant dream’ come back and stress you out during your shift?”

“What? I told you I wasn’t stressed during my shift.” My mind ran down the possibilities on why he's asking. “The news from Sideswipe was a bit unexpected and perplexing, but not truly stressful. I didn’t have much in the way of other visitors and I hadn’t much in the way of administrative work. No battle or mission related work, either.”

No other visitors other than Jazz… and one invisible inside my office. Make that two: Red Alert and Ratchet, and Jazz’s visit would read as stressing.

Jazz realized the same thing. “Dunno about the first one, but the shift one is my fault. I told him what he owes me from everything and I... may have... totally turned confrontational.”

Ratchet’s beady optics moved to Jazz while also morphing into a glare. “You did what?”

“I broke Prime’s order to some extent and told Prowl what happened. Wasn’t intending to push it so far.” Jazz shrugged. “Sorry?”

Ratchet’s hardened optics didn’t let up until Jazz fidgeted. “You, my office, now. Prowl, don’t move.”

Jazz's white face turned a paler white as he left with Ratchet. Once I heard the faint click of Ratchet’s office door, followed by the ominous whooshing sound of all sound proofing barriers engaging, I started counting the kliks. At klik 588 I finally detected the door sliding open, followed by one mech shuffling and another pacing normally. Both came back but Jazz's shoulders were slouched, whereas Ratchet's posture was very rigid. “I wasn’t entirely certain what shape Jazz would be in upon the next time I saw him, whether it be now or in a medical berth on my way out.”

Ratchet humphed. “Why would I add to my workload? Especially now that I’ve finally gotten one task off my chassis. Jazz here has _opted_ to take the burden of talking to you about everything.” The visor of the shuffling mech sharply brightened.

“By ‘opted’ you mean…”

“I mean I won’t tell Prime Jazz ignored the order if Jazz deals with it. I don’t feel like handling something with so much emotional baggage anymore,” he growled but I knew from vorns of experience it was fake. If anything, it was his way of saying that he wouldn’t/couldn’t talk about it anymore so others shouldn't press the issue.

After Jazz settled back down in his earlier chair Ratchet looked us each in the optic before drawing in a lengthy vent. His shoulders dropped backwards. “I think I have enough to work the baseline. Before I start disconnecting you, do you need something? Do you need more recharge medication?”

“I am not entirely sure.” Admitting that I’m hyper-aware about a possible repeat nightmare may not be smart to the overly cautious doctor. “I’d like to decide later when I have more information.”

“Only you need more data to decide whether to take a recharge aid or not. I’ll have something set aside in Medbay. If you need it, just call the Medbay commlink and someone will bring them to you. Unless you want to discuss something else, I’m pretty much done. I have some good news, for once.”

“Really?”

“According to these readings, the way your spark reacted to that massage accelerated and improved its absorption of the minerals and energy additive deposit. You’re spark is stronger and much more stable. That's why I let you get away earlier with holding back since I knew you were ultimately better, despite the curious readings. Now that I know, my doctor recommendation is for you to keep it up and you’ll have a fully healthy spark before too long. There might even be a chance you’ll be better off than you’ve been in countless vorns. Keep indulging in more massages, or whatever it takes. If need be, I'll even make it Jazz's mandatory part-time job duty.”

From the corner of my optic I could see Jazz’s visor losing that sharp brightness to it, the intensity and color darkening a shade below his normal hues. He squirmed a little and leaned forward. “I’ll try helping him keep it up. No need to order me to get him to relax.”

“Good,” Ratchet naïvely agreed. “I’ll reactivate your internal chronometer now and then check it against the baseline.”

A mutter slipped out while my mind was more stuck on just how this trip was turning out. “Pretty sure a time measuring device won’t kill me.”

“Mute it,” he said with a small flick to my chevron. “I want to make sure I’m satisfied with its impact to the baseline readings.”

He pushed a few buttons on a machine connected to my medical port and suddenly I knew exactly the time. My doorwings relaxed and Ratchet snickered. “Knowing the exact time is that important to you?”

“Do you realize how hard it is for a tactician and the schedule planner to function without knowing that? Even on leave. You try finding the appropriate times for refueling without crossing too many any ignorant soldiers gawking at why you’re walked around with attendees like a half-functioning mech. Blue tried but he’s not used to planning how to discreetly refuel.”

“With his need to talk, he'd probably plan on the exact opposite. _Your_ need, however, for control is too much for your own good. No, don’t even argue with me.” He cut me off before I could finish opening my mouth.

Jazz bumped my hand and tapped his wrist to communicate the human signal of hurrying up. “Fine, I’ll yield the point for the moment.”

“I love it when patients say such lovely words.” He finally started disconnecting me from the wires. “Jazz, what are you planning to do with him?”

He shrugged. “Just trust exercises that I pulled from humans. I figure with someone as wound tight as Prowl I’ll have to push his limits.”

Ratchet’s optics brightened. “Oh please tell me you’ll do trust falls. That’ll push his limit, especially if you do it in the Officers-Only training room. You could run all kinds of simulations. Then later I can tell you which simulators got his spark pulsing quicker.” His expression turned devious as he removed the last wire.

Jazz shifted and leaned back. “I wasn’t planning on using the training room, but…” he stopped and his optic ridge knitted together in thought for three kliks. The ridge smoothed out and he halfcocked Ratchet a grin. “That is actually a great idea, Ratchet. Thanks! Come on, Prowl, let’s go train.”

When we were clear I insisted he cease the needless risks. ::Stop walking the fine line of teasing secrecy and being discovered once someone starts piecing it together.::

A devilish smile crossed his face but he didn’t halt. ::Been holding that one in?::

::Yes, ever since I grew suspicious of veiled meanings when you used the word ‘suffering.’ Are we actually going to the training area?::

::Relax; to them we're training, but we’re not _training_.::

::Ah, a solution to avoiding detection by Red Alert and Ratchet?::

::And any hallway dwellers, but really it's Ratchet. I've got a few Special Ops paths that Red doesn't monitor and no one hangs out in or around them, but there’s no sneaking around Ratchet while he can read you practically like a bookfile. If we disguise it as training he won’t suspect anything and we won’t be caught or cause suspicion so long as we don’t do it _too_ frequently. If Ratchet does question it, there’s always the excuse of happy doorwing messages afterwards to undo any bumps along the way. Pity we won’t get to recharge together, aside from an occasional ‘oh no, he needs a massage and a relaxing movie after a trust fall gone wrong’ story. I liked the recharge company. Never been fond of recharging without backup, no matter where I’m at.::

::Things will eventually change,:: I suggested as we approached the main entryway for training rooms. In a way many might find strange, I appreciated his comment for recharging with backup. After all, the reason for the _Ark_ ’s layout putting Officer Quarters in back with the hallway filled with a plethora of security cameras is due to its logical point for assassination attempts. Balancing protection and privacy has always been a regular topic of discussion or contemplation, but a berth partner could accomplish both. I never really considered that option, opting for less intimate security measures.

“Do you have an actual plan?” I waited until he was done greeting a few soldiers and we locked ourselves inside the Officers-Only training room.

“It’s forming.” He shrugged and then grinned. “Too bad we don’t have a berth simulation, or something more fun and comfy than the ground. What do you think about making a simulation to practice defending against attempted assassinations during recharge?"

“I suppose that’s acceptable, although one might question why you or I have such a simulation stored under our profile.”

“No one digs around others’ profiles unless they’re doing something they’re not supposed to normally do,” he retorted. “We’ll keep it under my profile and call it ‘Special Ops Off-Duty Surprise,’ or whatever.”

“Alright…” I agreed before hesitating. “Now what?” I said while glancing about the bare room.

“I’m planning on loading up my ‘Too Angry to Stay Cool’ profile,” Jazz answered as he accessed the controls.

“That's a real profile?”

“Yup. I keep it in my 'Non-Mission' folder. It’s what I use when I can’t leave base but I’m too angry to calm down in my quarters. I’ve only used it twice since coming to Earth, but I keep it updated just in case.”

The room’s appearance and feel began changing, morphing into a hybrid of a dance floor, lounge, and training area. Colored lights slowly danced from the ceiling, highlighting the floor circles and pair of… somethings… in the corner. “What are those?”

Jazz looked to where I pointed. “They’re called beanbag chairs, ‘though they’re not real beanbag chairs.”

“That’s a redundant thing to say.”

“I _mean_ they do more than just be furniture. I can hang them up to those hooks in the empty corner. The program reads that and turns the bag, or bags, from comfy sitting bags to punching bags. Then if I punch/kick it enough to get tired, I pull it off and presto – it’s a comfy spot to rest. Plus they’re way more comfortable than what I’m told a human would normally expect from something otherwise flimsily constructed.”

I took a few steps towards these so-called chairs, stopping suddenly when my ped touched a floor circle and music abruptly played. I flinched before stepping back and it died down.

When the music was completely gone I heard snickering behind me. A hand touched my arm. “The floor is sensitized to pressure and movement. If I move quickly with heavy steps, it plays hard rock; quickly with light steps becomes club music, while slow is a relaxation mix. Lights will change, too.”

“My thoughts on you being a mech too complicated to be happily contained to one room is clearly wrong,” I noted before stepping forward, slowly and lightly. The air filled with slow jazz music. “Quite wrong.”

“Took me vorns to make it myself, though!” His hand, having not left my arm when I moved to test his explanation, began softly rubbing my plating. “Got a question for you.”

I turned around to face him better, silently raising my optic ridge at him to continue.

"I’ve been thinking how to word it and then it occurred to me straight-forward probably works best. When you and I were having fun in my quarters you weren’t nearly as uptight or awkward as I expected, even with me going for the direct, pushy approach. Not that you turned into a free-spirit or a mech with a lot of practice under his hood, but I wondered. You used to freeze me out over the use of the word ‘date.’”

I waited for more but he didn’t add further details. “You haven't asked me a straight-forward question. Are you asking why wasn’t I as uptight or awkward as expected of a mech who doesn’t like the word ‘date’?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“I never had any romantic relationships before, so the idea of dating is discouraging because I’ve never understood – nor was interest in understanding – romance or fulfilling a partner's emotional needs. Romance requires understanding my own and the other’s emotions, which neither I could do, and mostly still can't. I’ve had physical relationships before, but I considered them strategic and without emotional ties. What happened with you was ultimately more physical than romantic, if you want the dry and blunt truth.”

He stared, his face slowly sinking into a grimace. “So you don’t want anything beyond the physical?”

“That's not exactly what I meant with my explanation.I’d forgotten how to appreciate the physical parts of intimate interest,” I admitted. “Previously it was a more of a maintenance issue. Did my frame have a charge that required an overload to dispel? If so, then I found someone my battle computer labeled as a ‘charge-related maintenance worker’ and allowed whatever was necessary for my frame to return to a maintainable state.”

“Wow, I have so many questions. When was the last time you visited a maintenance worker?”

“Before Earth, but not _as_ long as you might suspect.” A smirk formed as I detected some internal smugness at Jazz’s startled expression. “Don’t factor it into whatever you’re thinking. He was hardly any more intelligent or intimate than an interface-drone; his only quality exceeding an interface-drone was how easily I could access him without anyone the wiser.”

“Well, gee, I’m surprised you didn’t bring him with you,” he retorted with noticeable sarcasm.

“Who says I didn’t?”

Jazz gaped before stuttering. “What?! You have to be fragging kidding me! After all – ”

“I am kidding you!” I protested. “I was trying to keep the mood lighter than the last time we had a discussion pertaining to us.”

The plating below his visor squinted. He swore. "How did I not know about this secret? I had you frequently checked out to make sure our SIC wasn't doing anything dangerous or stupid."

"You recall my infrequent trips to the Theoreticians' Wing, for calibrating my battle computer's quantum physics and mathematics computation driver?"

"Yeah, one of the Top Five dullest trailing assignment I or one of my agents had. We made sure you got to the tiny, windowless lab and then back. Oh, whoa, wait! You're telling me that 'calibration trip' was code for Prowl getting laid?"

"Jazz, you don't _calibrate_ quantum theories," I admonished as if the saboteur should've known better, choosing to not satisfy his actual question. "You should revisit the definition of calibration. Plus I never met on an actual theoretician during those visits."

"Well aren't you so funny?" he sneered without insult, his hand coming to a full stop on my arm. "I should've known better. You never mentioned these calibration trips for your battle computer's quantum mechanics driver around Ratchet. I just figured it was too specialized for a doctor."

"Of course I never mentioned it around him. He'd demand to know when I got such a driver."

"Are you fragging kidding me again?!" He threw both of his hands in the air and I shook my helm. "Primus, I just feel like the worst Special Ops Head of all time the more we talk."

"Not my fault. Perhaps you would have done better to ask yourself why a battle computer installed in a strategist would bother with quantum mechanics. I have an algorithm for quantum super-position and that's it; anything else that becomes relevant I'll get from those who actually study the subject."

"I swear I officially do not know you," Jazz scoffed, shaking his helm.

The corners of my mouth twitched downward. "In many ways you know me better than any mech I can think of."

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that. Don’t, don’t do that. Don't sound hurt." His hand came back but rested loosely around my hand. "I meant it in humor. The new information about the way you're used to operating for matters we've never discussed has been enlightening. You can account for Schrodinger's cat during battle strategies but romance is too much?"

"Unless 'Schrodinger' is a new nickname for Soundwave, I don't care about anyone's cat."

"No, it's a quantum super-position thing. Ugh, never mind. I don't even care right now. Our secret time isn't supposed to be filled with quantum matters." His hand quickly tightened and pulled me into him, his other hand pressing into my back as he kissed me. I barely noticed what his hands were doing when my spark started fluttering madly. "Right now I'm going to 'calibrate' you until coming up with these little lies is too difficult. Then we can discuss the other details you keep dancing around when I get more direct."

 

|\/\/\/|

 

By the end of the pretend training session neither of us felt particularly talkative about other details. True to his word, Ratchet sent us both reports during his next shift with highlighted timestamps, and a note that Jazz better remember _what_ corresponded with the _when_ in his report or else Ratchet would sit in on the next one. Jazz sent a rather sassy response, resulting in a snark-battle via messages between the two, with me an exasperated courtesy-correspondent observer.

When I met with Ratchet and Sideswipe in a general training area the CMO wanted details but I refused. That backfired some in how Ratchet let Sideswipe get away with giving a doorwing joint a slight friction burn. Little did they know Sideswipe wasn’t the first to do that since I last saw the medic.

When we finally called an end to the practice so-called match, I sat on a bench while Ratchet prodded the joint with his tools. Sideswipe was several paces away, animatedly chatting with Sunstreaker how fun it was to get away bending my doorwing in my face without being tossed in the brig. Ironhide briefly slowed his weapon check stroll, pausing only long enough to remark that I did have a memory and there was always the next time Sideswipe broke the rules. The sour look on the red terror’s face more than made up for my joint’s burn.

Ratchet finally stopped his poking. “Internal repairs will have that done before you come out of recharge. Speaking of recharge, my sensors showed you woke up twice. What happened?”

“Bluestreak had his own unpleasant dream and smacked my chevron with his doorwing. Neither of us are sure how he managed that. The problem with three Praxian pressed against one another in the berth.” The second one was my own unpleasant dream set off because of Bluestreak’s. “The next one was simply me concerned with his wellbeing to the point of disrupting recharge again.”

Jazz’s remark announced his approach. “Sounds like a reason for a spark calibration.”

I glanced back to see them both, one mech flashing a full smile to the lesser enthused one. Ratchet scowled and asked nonplussed, “What the slag is a spark calibration? Don’t throw around fake medical terms. If I have a sudden influx of patients fearing they don’t know the last time they calibrated their sparks, which is complete and utter nonsense, I will throw you into the brig and force you to sit through enough spark lectures by Perceptor until there’s not enough high-grade to drown out your helmache.”

“Relax! It’s my new term for that spark healing crystal you want Prowl to absorb. I just thought spark calibration sounds more fun.”

As soon as he finished the first sentence I darted my optics around the area but I didn’t see anyone within audio range, save the distracted twins. They were moving down the wall of weapons, working on cleaning up any incorrectly placed weapons, having an affinity for proper weapon care much like Ironhide.

“It’s stupid and grossly inadequate,” Ratchet argued back.

“Then what do you want to call it? Chassis-localized sensor calibration, resulting from that prank everyone thinks is the real reason Prowl was out of commission?”

Ratchet pursed his lips while considering the idea. Jazz waited and I stood, slowly stretching every limb and strut. “If you need a name for it. Personally I don’t see why, other than you just love a legit sounding reason to covertly mess with others.”

“That’s like half of my job’s description!”

I motioned for Ratchet’s attention before Jazz could add anything else. “How long do we need to ‘calibrate’ those sensors?” I ignored Jazz’s helm snap at me. “Surely you aren’t planning to forever monitor me.”

“With the way things are going, I except you to be well enough within three or four deca-orns. If your progress plateaus but there’s nothing technically worrying about it, including you not slagging me off between now and then to think you did something, I’ll remove half or so of them, that-a-way so I have less maintenance checks. Red might be watching you like a turbohawk, but I don’t have such luxuries. I don’t even have the luxury of turning on your tac-set when I want to,” he added with a dark mutter.

“Well then,” Jazz jumped in to quickly redirect the conversation, “I guess that’s my cue to take him to the Officers-Only training room and help keep up progress.”

Ratchet smirked and blocked Jazz’s hand reaching to pull me away. “Since I’m here you might as well let me see what you’re doing.”

“Come on; don’t be _that_ mech.” Jazz's hand reached around Ratchet's arm and pawed at my shoulder.

“I’ll be however I want to be, damn it. I’m the CMO on a base of half-suicidal crazies, one of which you’re tugging at.”

Jazz’s mouth twitched. “Well then, as the only medically-trained mech in the nearby vicinity, you might want to stop _that_ –” Jazz pointed behind us and we turned, “– before Sunny and Sides get into a real fight and you have to take their crippled forms back to Medbay.”

Ratchet cursed, the expletives growing exponentially as he saw the twins pushing each other, each with a short-blade weapon in hand from halting in their efforts to restack other close-combat non-energy weapons, meant for training in a true combat setting. Both brothers were in reach of axes, maces, more short swords, and pointed staffs.

“Slag, Hide!” Ratchet yelped and darted over to the twins, hands splayed out front.

Jazz grabbed me and pulled me the opposite direction. “Let Hide and Ratchet take care of that. Let’s go before Ratchet remembers his demands to watch us.”

“But –” he pulled harder, interrupted me completely.

When the door closed he pointed out, “There’s only so many times and ways I can say ‘no’ before Ratchet’ll get suspicious. We should take the distractions when we can. My audios picked up what the twins were saying before I pointed them out. They were just role playing why they thought other Autobots couldn’t put the weapons back right. Or as Sides said, what stupid and self-involved things they were thinking that they can’t be bothered.”

“You accused me of using my battle computer to misdirect others’ perceptions, but you do it with your advance audio receptors?” I wirily pointed out.

“My advance audios receptors _and_ intellect. Takes fast thinking to get Ratchet to forget you. Now give me a klik to pull up a real training profile and freeze it, just in case I failed and he comes knocking.”

“If that’s the case then we should reframe from doing anything more than talking.”

Jazz absently nodded from his spot by the console. A bland section of desert appeared around us. “That’s fine. We should probably establish a few things before we do things that tend to have a limited-to-no vocabulary. Establish things like how to not cross that amazingly-fine line between doorwing bliss and a doorwing friction burn.”

“Indeed.”

“Plus hard limits and soft limits.”

“What are those, and why am I weary of your explanation?”

He snickered. “Let’s keep it simple for now, then. I have a hard limit against spilling energon.”

“You spill it all the time. Training, missions, battle – ”

“Please tell me you’re kidding with that new sense of humor you’re developing and don’t need me to spell out the context of what kind of hard limits I’m talking about right now.”

After a moment of hesitation and seven kliks of recollection my doorwings twitched with realization. “Then I suppose I have the same, or am I supposed to say something else?”

“What would freeze the energon in your lines if I suggested something?” he tried explaining again.

“Being dipped in liquid nitrogen?”

He ex-vented and rubbed at his faceplate under his visor. “Okay, new question: is that humor, or are we having a miscommunication because we’ve got a starting-level comfort mismatch?”

More hesitation from me. “I am… at a lost, and evidently I’m developing some sort of deflection humor. Apparently spending significant cumulative time punishing Sideswipe has left a permanent mark that, without my battle computer, is making itself known.”

He didn’t react and after a half-breem I reluctantly returned to his question, fighting the strange need to wrap my arms around my torso. “I don’t know. My previous experience was quick and mechanical, not all romantic or exploratory. I don't see an immediate hard limit in exploration, but in terms of romance... I truly don't know. I suppose a hard limit would be pushing me beyond my comfort with emotions, but then emotions are normally classified as _soft_ for most. That is, for others, emotions are probably not supposed to be lumped in with cutting energon lines.”

Jazz’s mouth twitched upward as he tilted his helm, not responding for a half-breem. “Most can translate the hard emotions into physical actions. I know why I won’t spend that kind of time with someone who overloads from inflicting war-like wounds. Even if it was someone 99 out of 100 times was sweet, I’d never trust them.

“But I think what’s more important from what you just told me is you don’t know if you can be involved with someone more than a maintenance worker. I think you can, but with a mix of nudges and patience from others. So I guess I should be asking if right now you think a hard stop is us be no more than friends with benefits, lovers, something else, or if you’re willing to allow the possibility of a romantic relationship. Or if there’s a chance you’d rather go back to friends-only, once your battle computer is back up and running soon.”

“What are friends with benefits?”

He shrugged, the movement a bit sharper than before. “Two platonic friends in every way, save an occasional overload that’s not supposed to impact their otherwise platonic relationship. I guess it’d be a cooled down version of this. A ‘I got it out of my system’ end to this, but good enough to leave open the possibility of doing this again in case one of us has a frame charge but not a partner.”

“Oh. May I have time to consider your question?”

“How much you talking?”

“Perhaps after my tac-set is back on?” I asked, my voice more tentative than I wanted.

His visor darkened and his lips pressed tight. “Nah. See, that means _you_ aren’t make the decisions because we both know what’ll happen if you stay indecisive that long. No, Prowl, you have until we have to leave this room to decide how comfortable _you_ are with future plans. That when your battle computer comes on, you won’t let it sway you because there’s strategic flaws in open-ended options, where you won't listen to it if it classifies me as a liability like it does Blue. I’m not asking you to commit to anything right now, other than making a decision to not string me along.”

Words formed in my mind but died an intangible mess before I could properly vocalize them. Jazz’s visor flickered darker before turning normal. He moved away, towards the back of the room. “Call me when you’ve made up your mind. For whatever its worth, I have faith in you that you can do it before the joor’s over, but you need to have that faith in yourself, too.”

When he moved completely away and began a slow warm-up regiment I noticed my peds felt heavier. I sat down, crossing my legs and resting against the masked wall. Without a battle simulator I had to think carefully about it on my own. It was nearly three-quarters of the joor before I called for Jazz’s return, and I still didn't feel wholly certain.

When we were both standing face to face I regarded him carefully. I noticed his neck was just slightly rotated, likely putting the focus of his optics over my shoulder. “There’s something I need to make sure you realize first.”

“What?” he sounded… defensive?

“I’m never going to be a mech with normal emotions. I don’t want to be one. I'll try to be more than I’ve been, but I'll never go so far as finding out how to bond with the average Autobot. With my duties I can't see how such efforts would be of any use, if not ultimately destructive to aforementioned duties. Can you accept that?”

His neck rotated back a little, putting his face straight in line with mine. “You want to talk about emotions in terms of responsibilities, then do you know the last time I had a serious relationship?”

I shook my helm.

“When the rules of war were thrown out by Megatron and Special Ops missions went from dangerous to potentially gruesome torturous deactivation. I’d be exclusive with the same mech for a few vorns and were real tight. Then an agent’s body came back – well, what pieces Shockwave sent back – and my mate found out about it. Losing a fellow agent and friend to Shockwave was hard enough, but having a mate practically besides himself about me staying in XOps? I wouldn’t leave my friends to fight back against Shockwave and the like alone, and he wouldn’t stop worrying.

“I can’t have an intimate relationship with a mech with ‘normal’ emotions. Every attempt at a serious relationship I’ve had since then forced me to end it because they got too emotional whenever I didn’t come back on time. A couple of times when I got trapped behind enemy lines, before I met you, a few of my lovers practically rushed my superiors and beg for information or rescue mission. Not only is that disruptive, but it’s pretty embarrassing to come back to.

"Regular mechs don’t handle my missions well, especially since you know how my return timeframes are tentative anyhow. In all honesty, if something happened to me I’d rather have a mate who can shut down his emotions and come up with a thorough plan to get me back, without jeopardizing others over ill-advised romantic notations. I don’t want a body count because a rescue team came badly prepared over some emotional fake-reasoning. Obviously I don’t want to be written off as a statistically-acceptable loss, but those close to me need to be someone capable of rational thinking if one of my missions ends up at the bottom of the Pit. That’s the kind of stuff that gets mechs killed on my kind of missions.”

My optic ridges deeply furrowed. "There’s no statistically-acceptable loss for someone in your position within the Autobots. Still, I take it to mean you... you like me not being normal?"

He allowed a half-smile. "That and more. I need someone I can feel safe around, and that means someone who isn't going to worry or bend under pressure. I need someone that if I end up spilling a horrible detail of my operations isn't going to have nightmares about it. You've gone through enough on the nightmarish details with me post-op and never once handled it with less than professionalism. I need someone with that ability to recharge with me because I don't always recharge easily, and if I come out of it in the middle of a nightmare, I tend to do harm. I think you could handle it, be that mech watching my back, help me fall into recharge feeling protected, but also help me if I come out of recharge my own worst enemy. I've watched you around others, ever since Praxus, and I've noticed how you blend professional aptitude with caring. Most might don't see the caring, but then they don't know what it's like to be mechs in our positions."

Jazz slipped his hand around mine, entwining our fingers and pulling our hands waist-high. "You asked why I liked you back in your office. It's because you're someone who can keep it together despite all the horrible things you've had to endure. And while yeah, you've got a bit of a _re_ learning curve ahead of you for everything that's recently happened, I can't see you being ultimately anything less, if not someone much better.

"If I want to party to tunes, I got Blaster. Go exploring with humans, I got Bee or Hound. And so on. Have someone there to accept all of me, accept that I'm not a party mech who occasionally does something sneaky, as half the 'bots here describe me? Closest is Mirage and that cat has a lot of demons, too. There's only so much we can talk before something I said has him reliving some dark Ops memory and puts him in a funk. Especially if it's about a Head of Special Ops decision I had to make - the kind you and I don't _precisely_ give full details to Prime about.

"Takes a toll on me to always have to be the morale mech when I'm planning sabotage that'll detrimentally harm many Decepticons, often leading to dead Decepticons. Usually the dead ones are the less viscous ones; the ones that might've been something better once this war is over, but now it's just more monsters left standing. I know you know what that's like, 'though at least you have your space to work through the pain of those moments. If you wanted, you could carefully pick who comes into your safehaven to help you in those times. Try having someone interrupt yours by handing you a party request datapad and start eagerly chatting about it, while you've got a kill list of your remaining monsters in the other hand. Gotta keep smiling and tuck that pad from view, because Primus forbid they be reminded I'll probably be picking up the streamers right after I finally wash the fresh buildup of spilled energon off my hands."

I looked at our joined hands and tentatively squeezed. "I could pick up the streamers and you can tell me about the mission while I hand off the supplies. I hear what you're saying now and it doesn't bother me, other than I'm concerned that it bothers you."

He squeezed back, and softly replied, "Exactly."

Jazz stepped forward, pressing a kiss to my lips. "So don't ever risk taking away my safety net, okay? There's no one near perfection for me like you."

A small smile freed itself and I ducked my helm, casting my optics to our joined hands. "I won't do something so selfish and detached again." Slowly I lifted my optics back to his. "I promise to share my worries and fears, and to support yours, so long as you feel the same. There'll never be a hard nor soft limit for me there."

"Good, because I feel the same," he smiled softly and lightly kissed me again. "Course, I do hope there's plenty of fun between those times."

"Indeed. I do need help relearning certain types of joy," I teased with my own kiss. "Or as I understand it that's how you describe these moments."

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, nipping my bottom lip. My spark's rate increased but by now I was growing familiar with the feeling. I had no desire to fight or minimize it anymore.

"Several, in fact. See how many you find. If you're good enough, I might offer some strategic hints to find the others."

"Well, I'm going to guess that one is watching how much pressure I apply to doorwings," he murmured as his free fingers danced across my body towards my abused doorwing joint. His lips returned to be with mine, refusing to be separated again.

My free hand slipped over his hip, playing with the pressure points I discovered that the dancer in Jazz found sensitive. He squeezed our locked hands one more time before carefully letting go and tracing his own fingers across my hip. I stifled a moan as his fingers brushed the doorwing joint, focusing on his other hand while I altered between mimicking him and caressing as I learned previously.

His fingers stops minutely as they were caught on a knotted scar, and it immediately reminded me the last time he touched that same scar. My hand stopped his, holding it loosely to show no physical discomfort, but a need to halt all the same.

He pulled back, his flushed lips hovering near mine and his darkened visor focused on my face, his other hand stalling on my doorwing. He didn't say anything, presumably waiting for me.

My optics drifted down to the scar, seeing it as an ugliness on this moment. My fingers brushed it, remembering my words to Jazz about how my scars didn't matter. "I think perhaps after our time here I might ask Ratchet if he can get rid of these scars. Do you mind avoiding them? I know there's many of them, but for some reason they're disrupting this for me."

Jazz kissed me once more before leaning past my face, nuzzling the side of my helm. "I understand, and I can avoid them."

"Thank you. You may understand but I don't, yet for some reason this matters."

His hands moved slowly towards my helm, somehow avoiding all of scars. Praxus, Decepticons, and foreign world missions. There were so many more than I bothered noticing, until I was aware of how Jazz's hands managed to carefully brush against my plating without touching one.

His hands stopped on the sides of my helm by my audios, and he nuzzled the side of my face again. "Perhaps I'll explain it after the scars are gone."

His words had my spark flutter anew, but softly and with a slow radiating warm this time. I listened to it, following the perceived pull to the center of the generated warmth, finding my body leaning into Jazz's."I'd appreciate the help. It's a strange fear and uncertainty, to not even understand my feelings about my own body. A part of me feels like I'm walking into enemy territory without any intel, but here with you..." I drifted off, uncertain how to progress. How to explain the unperceived.

He chuckled and pulled me into a tight embrace. "Anyone tell you that while you were in limbo that I did exactly that, walk into enemy territory without any intel?"

I tried pulling back to get a better view of him, but he refused to let go. Instead, I turned to look at the side of his face. "Not in those exact words. I knew you went on a mission to find what the Decepticons were doing. They left out the lack of intel. I know you get intel and by my definition you work on minimal information, but to have no _starting_ intel? Why'd you do it?"

"For a couple of reasons. I needed to work through my emotions, too, but also find out how at risk we were to spend our time focusing our help on you. I didn't know what I walking into, only hoping that I walk out with what I wanted. I did, and more."

Jazz pulled back until I was almost at arm's width away, one arm staying on the small of my back while the other reached into his subspace pocket. He pulled out a silver-black curved object. Confused by the object, I merely acknowledged, "That looks familiar."

"It's Ravage's claw. I went into a situation I knew little about and found myself in a situation to fight for you, in a manner of speaking. What I got back was a laugh at a Decepticon and Ravage's claw. A trophy I used to remind me that if I could make it through that unknown danger for you, then I could help you live when I had to go beyond my own limits and help Ratchet's team make sure you came online."

He grabbed my hand and pressed the token into my hand. "For when you feel afraid of walking into the unknown alone, know that I'll be there fighting for you. Even if it's silently as I watch your back, know that I do it because I know _you_ can do it, and need to do it; that you're never alone no matter how scared or void you feel. Emotions or not, I'll never stop caring for you as _you_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finis!
> 
> Feel free to leave feedback for this and the sequel. If you're planning on being a troll, know that my awake-time is too precious to finish reading your trollishness, let alone reply. All non-trolls beloved!
> 
> Apologies for the delays, both in this chapter and the sequel.  
> Thanks for reading!


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